


The Meet Cute

by amandajoyce118



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, Slow Burn, Spot the cameo, rom com
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-10 14:20:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 34,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4395149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amandajoyce118/pseuds/amandajoyce118
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meet cute: a term for when two characters meet in an unpredictable, but destined to be together sort of way. Or, Jemma's mind is occupied with looking for a job, not a boyfriend, but maybe she gets both.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [notapepper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notapepper/gifts).



> I realize it's been a while since I've posted anything, but I have been writing a lot, and this story is mostly complete, so rest assured that updates will be coming to you pretty regularly. A huge amount of thanks are in in order for notapepper and StarryDreamer01 who have been giving me feedback for what seems like months on this one! They are both fantastic and you should be reading all of their stuff.

"I don't like this idea." Jemma twisted her hands in front of her, peering through the grimy window of the likely questionable bar she and Skye were standing outside of. She supposed no one was up to cleaning windows in the winter. Snow crunched under her boot as she shifted her weight around, and she pressed the soles of her shoes down harder with each step.

"It's two minutes per guy. You'll be fine." Skye waved her arm dismissively and reached for the door.

"What if one of them is a serial killer?"

"Don't pick him."

"Thank you. That's so helpful," Jemma deadpanned before shaking her head. "I cannot believe I let you talk me into this."

"Come on. It'll be fun." Skye bounced on her feet. "Besides, we already signed up! We promised Bobbi we'd fill in some of the spots."

Jemma sighed. Skye knew exactly how to guilt her into things. Of course she wasn't going to back out because she had promised Bobbi. Bobbi - who worked for a matchmaking service even though she was divorced from a man that she kept regularly going back to. Bobbi - who had begged Skye and Jemma to participate because she didn't have enough women sign up through the service that were looking for men.

This was supposed to be "girls' night." Instead, it had become "help Bobbi and make sure she doesn't lose her job night." Jemma had only agreed to participate on the condition that Bobbi provide her with plenty of drinks.

"Ugh. Why am I friends with the two of you again?"

"Because we're awesome," Skye joked, linking her arm through Jemma's and pulling her back toward the entrance to the bar.

As they walked through the doorway, Jemma was pleasantly surprised to find the bar both expansive and somehow cozy, decorated like an old speakeasy. She had expected something more like peanut shells on the floor and bikers at the bar tops. It wasn't that Bobbi's taste ran in that direction, it was just that she had mentioned something along the lines of "Please, I wouldn't even go into that place, but the bartender owes me a favor, so he talked the boss into letting me use half the bar for free."

Jemma fought the urge to hide her gloved hands in the pockets of her coat and duck her head down further in her scarf as Skye led them to the side of the bar where Bobbi was set up.

"Oh, thank god," Bobbi muttered when they walked up to her. She handed them each a sticker with a number on it and what looked like a comment card from a restaurant. "I've had five people call and cancel on me already because of the snow."

"We wouldn't do that," Skye told her cheerfully. "We  _promised_ , right Jemma?"

"Yes. That is correct," Jemma responded stiffly. She didn't add that they only lived a few blocks away, so it wasn't exactly like the snow would've been a huge obstacle for them.

"Jemma… I know you didn't want to do this. I really appreciate it."

"Skye keeps telling me it'll be fun," she said with a shrug, trying to pretend that sitting at a table and having 25 strange men tell her their life stories in three minutes or less wasn't something that made her want to run and hide. She went about unbuttoning her coat and winding the scarf from around her neck while she snuck glances around the room. She didn't see anyone who looked like a serial killer. Not that she would know what one looked like. All of the men were dressed, much like herself and Skye, as if they were just coming from work.

"So," Skye said, leaning against what was probably a wooden podium normally used for trivia nights, "what do we do?"

"You wear the numbered sticker so you're identifiable. No names. That way if someone missed anything in anyone's backgrounds, we hopefully don't have any stalking issues."

"Stalking?" Jemma interrupted, hesitant to put the '17' sticker on her blouse now.

"It was one time," Bobbi said with a wave of her hand. "Guy slipped through my radar. I took care of it."

Jemma's eyes were wide as Bobbi gestured to the tables behind her. "Pick a table, have a seat. You'll chat with a guy for three minutes, mark down the numbers of the guys you like best, and the guys move to a new table every three minutes. They have to do all the work to impress you. Nothing to it." Jemma didn't move from her spot as Skye flounced over to a table and slapped the sticker on her leather jacket. "Look, Jemma. You don't have to take this seriously," Bobbi whispered, leaning in close so no one standing around the room heard her. "I asked you and Skye to help to fill in spaces. Make something up and don't worry about putting any numbers down." She paused and smiled. "Unless you actually meet someone you like."

Jemma rolled her eyes. "Fine. Fine."

She walked away, carefully adhering the sticker to the front of her blouse. Intending to take a seat at the table next to Skye, she made her way over, but another woman plopped down before she got to the table. The woman smoothed her hands down her deep red dress with outlines of black roses scattered across it and smiled at her. Jemma smiled back and moved to a table a few spaces down, draping her coat and scarf on the back of the chair before taking a seat. She propped her chin in her hand and set her phone on the table, ready to fake an emergency or text Skye for help if she needed to.

"Can I get you something to drink, love?" She jumped in her seat at the familiar voice, and when she saw who was talking to her, she let out a giggle in response.

"Well, I guess now I know why Bobbi didn't have to pay to use the space."

"Yeah, yeah." Lance rolled his eyes. "The hellbeast called in her last favor."

"Sure," Jemma agreed. "Until next Friday night." She blinked up at him innocently.

"I was going to offer you a drink on the house, but now I'm not so sure." She continued to blink at him, the perfect picture of feigned innocence, until he caved with a roll of his eyes. "Fine, Jemma. What can I get you?"

She wrinkled her nose in thought.

"I can bring you a pint of Guinness if you can't decide," he joked.

She wrinkled her nose further and shook her head. Lance would suggest Guinness knowing the one and only time she drank it she ended up sicker than a dog the next day while standing in as a witness to Lance and Bobbi's city hall marriage.

"Vodka soda," she decided.

"Going straight for the hard stuff, huh? Looking forward to this 'bout as much as I am then?"

Jemma just sighed and sat up straighter in her seat.

"I'll keep 'em coming then."

-o-

20 minutes into the night, and Jemma drained the last of her drink before snapping up a pretzel from the bowl in front of her.

These men were idiots. What on earth had possessed Bobbi to think this was a good idea?

"So, what do you do," Jemma asked, trying to sound at least somewhat conversational for the next man seated across from her. She may have tuned out during some of what he was saying. The sticker that sat crookedly on his black t-shirt had a seven sloppily written in the middle of it.

"I'm a trainer at a gym."

"Oh. That must be… interesting."

He shrugged. "It's not bad. Keeps me in shape, I get to tell people what to do without feeling guilty about it." He laughed as though that was supposed to be a joke and Jemma raised her eyebrows, bringing her glass to her lips, but finding it empty. Lance was at her side, swiping it from her hand and delivering a new one before she could set it down. "No, really," the guy continued with a straight face, "it's nice, helping people achieve their goals, you know?"

"Yeah, sure." She took a sip of the drink and set it back down.

"What do you do?"

She gave him the same story she'd been feeding everyone all night - Bobbi had said she could make something up. "I'm a doctor. Pediatrician." She looked at the table as she said, wondering if she could grab another pretzel to get out of talking to him.

"No, you're not. You're lying."

Jemma shot her eyes up to him in surprise. If anyone else had known, they hadn't called her on it yet.

"No, I'm not." She chewed on her top lip, one hand playing with the straw in her glass.

"Yeah. You're too fidgety. You're definitely lying."

"Are you sure you just work in a gym?"

He laughed. "Yeah, I'm sure. But you get used to clients lying to you about their reps, the sweets they've eaten. I know when someone's feeding me a line."

"I am currently between prospects," Jemma informed him tightly. "Lost my job last week."

"Ah. Pediatrician sounds good then." He smiled at her.

She just tapped her finger on the top of her glass and waited for him to continue.

"So...have any pets?"

"No, my apartment is in a pet free building," Jemma said dryly. "You?" How much longer did she have to talk to him? It wasn't that he was particularly boring or anything, though they hadn't talked about anything that actually interested her either. She didn't like the way he looked at her though. Like he knew something she didn't, like that somehow made him better than her.

"A dog."

The bell rang and she breathed out an impatient sigh as he moved to another table. She craned her head to see if Skye was having fun, but she couldn't see her beyond that woman in the flowered sweater dress who was leaning forward across the table, eyes wide and alluring, looking like she was scaring the daylights out of the man across from her. Jemma bit down on a laugh at the older man's expression. He looked like he might have wanted to run.

Several rounds later and Jemma met a psychologist, an astrophysics professor, and a doctor, amongst others, each more eager than the last to try lines on her that made her wince or roll her eyes. Her vision also became progressively hazier as she sipped the drinks Hunter brought her. She checked the time on her phone, wondering when this would be over.

"Five minute break," Bobbi called over the din and the last ring of the timer. "Refresh your drinks, touch up your makeup, check on your kids, whatever. Just be back in five."

Jemma's drink may have already been refreshed, but she was getting sick of pretzels, so she took her glass up to the edge of the bar and slid onto a stool. "Lance," she whined when he walked by her and back behind the bar top, "do you have anything to eat in this place besides pretzels?"

"Drinkin' on an empty stomach, huh?"

"We didn't have time to stop for food," Skye informed him when she sidled up next to Jemma. Jemma felt the other woman squinting at her while she shifted around on the bar stool. "How many drinks have you had?"

"Two," Jemma said meekly, not telling Skye that the bar had become oddly brighter over the last couple of speed daters.

"Actually, that's her fourth," Lance said with a grin. "Didn't think you were such a lightweight."

"Well, it would help if you served actual food in this place." Jemma leaned forward to peer over the bar. "What are those? Onions?" She wrinkled her nose up at the container of pearl onions, likely a garnish for some disgusting drink that she didn't want to consider.

"Yes. I've also got… some fruit wedges, olives, maraschino cherries, and… uh…" Lance looked around, trying to see if there was anything else edible, gesturing with the orange slice clutched in a pair of tongs in front of him. "Hmm. Ice?"

Jemma grabbed the orange slice before he could move it away and bit into the fruit, but it was nowhere near sweet enough.

"Ugh." She pulled the slice from her between her teeth and set it on a napkin. "Skye. How much longer do we have to stay?" Jemma heard the words coming out of her mouth, but she chose to believe that this whiny petulant person was some alternate reality version of herself. Skye was supposed to be the whiny one.

"Not long. Here," Skye grabbed the bowl of cherries and shoved them at Jemma. "Eat some of these for now. Go back to your table." As Jemma slid off the stool and wobbled her way back to her spot, she sighed, but didn't grumble, reminding herself that she was doing this for Bobbi. She barely heard Skye say, "I'll pay you if you get us a pizza. I love Jemma, and she's tiny, but I'm not carrying her home."

"How much?"

"I don't know. I think I've got twenty bucks on me?"

"That'll pay for the pizza. What about me? And you just let her walk off with all my cherries."

"What? You guys don't keep them in bulk in the back?"

-o-

Jemma finished the bowl of maraschino cherries (and her drink) before the break was up, and looked forlornly at the glass in front of her.

_Well, that just wouldn't do._

She shook the glass around experimentally, hearing the few ice cubes that were left clink around as Bobbi announced for everyone to take their seats again. She peered over in the direction of the bar, but it seemed so very far away, and someone dropped into the seat across from her, so she couldn't exactly get up -  _that would be rude_.

Bobbi announced that the timer was being set again, so Jemma looked up at the man across from her.

"Oh. Hello." She offered a smile. "You are  _very_ symmetrical, aren't you?"

"I don't think anyone's ever told me that before?" He smiled back at her.

Propping her chin up on one hand, she asked, "So… what do you do?"

"Construction, mostly. Used to work in a steel plant. Paid a little better. But I gotta keep working, you know? I've got a son."

Jemma nodded as if she understood, but really she was more focused on the muscle definition she could make out underneath his jacket. He appeared to be in just as good of shape - if not better - than that personal trainer she'd spoken with earlier. And his smile seemed genuine, not condescending. She could handle talking to him.

-o-

"I think your skills are deteriorating. This doesn't taste nearly as good as the last drink," Jemma said, trying to grab Lance to give the drink back to him.

"That's because it's sprite," he teased over his shoulder. "I wanted to see you pass out at the table, but Skye told me to cut you off. Again." He hurriedly switched out other drinks from his tray at the tables along his route back to the bar while Jemma shook her head.

"Sprite." She sniffed. "As if I can't handle my alcohol."

"Yer still sittin' up. No slurrin'. Seem ta be doin' jus' fine ta me."

The voice across the table from her was a new one, and she quite liked it.

"Exactly."

She turned to face her new table companion as the final round began. He was pleasantly symmetrical, thick curly hair on the top of his head as well, but she had to question his fashion choices in the dead of winter. He was wearing a grey t-shirt. It was long sleeved, to be sure, but how on earth could he stand it when it had been piercingly cold for weeks now? She opened her mouth to ask him just that, but he beat her to the punch.

"Ye don' seem like tha speed datin' type?"

"What gave me away?" She deadpanned.

"Don' think anyone else is drinkin' ta get through it." He raised his own beer bottle in a mock salute.

Jemma sighed, but then smiled at him. "I'm not. My friend works for the company in charge."

"Ah. Tha' explains all yer haverin' with tha bartender."

Jemma played with the straw in her glass again as he took another drink. She narrowed her eyes at him in mock suspicion. "Have you been watching me?" She teased.

A faint pink crossed his cheeks. "Wha'? No. 'Course not!"

She laughed and a grin started to make its way across his face.

_He had quite a nice smile too._

"Have you been enjoying the speed dating, then?" She asked him. There was something about him that made this seem more like a joke and less like a chore.

He smirked and answered diplomatically, "It's been an interestin' evenin'." He shook his head and said, "tha' one in tha flowers - she's kind o' scary though."

"Yes! I saw one man leap up and run from her table when the timer went off!" Jemma giggled. "I don't know if I've ever seen someone move so fast!"

He nodded and gestured with his bottle. "She seems ta be doin' okay now."

The man at the other table, sunglasses on despite the evening hour, had his hands folded in front of him as he talked, a soft smile on his face. The woman was watching him, utterly transfixed as he spoke.

"Maybe she was scaring them off on purpose?" Jemma mused. "Waiting for the right one. Everyone lies at these things anyway."

"Yeah… maybe not everyone. You don' seem ta be lyin' ta me."

"You haven't asked me anything that I need to lie about yet!"

Jemma let her eyes slip down, looking to catch the number on his sticker, just out of curiosity, of course. It wasn't like they had even talked about anything substantial. And it wasn't like she was actually going to put a number down on her card. And she absolutely wasn't basing the idea of writing down his number solely on the possibility that there was a warmth spreading through her every time he grinned at her that had nothing to do with the alcohol.

_Maybe he had exceptional pheromones or something._

The number on his shirt, slapped haphazardly on his left sleeve as if he was trying to avoid people looking at it too closely, was a six.

"So…" Jemma hesitated, not wanting this to turn the route of every conversation she'd had so far tonight, "tell me something about yourself that no one else knows."

"No one?"

"No one."

"Hmm." He thought for a moment, and if he had been one of her earlier 'dates,' Jemma might have thought he was stalling for time, but his eyes sparkled in the yellow of the light above them, and she knew he was considering the question, trying to retrieve a suitable piece of information.

She leaned back in her chair, stretching her arms above her head as she waited.

"I hate haggis," He finally said, hiding his smile behind his beer bottle as he took another sip.

"Oh, please. That's not a real secret. No one in their right mind enjoys haggis." Her arms plopped back down, hands landing on the table with a loud slap, and she glanced around guiltily, but no one was paying them any attention.

"I think my countrymen would take offense a' tha'." They both chuckled, and Jemma, wanting something more substantial, readied herself to ask for another secret, but he said, "It's yer turn. Tell me somethin' no one knows."

Jemma bit down on her lip before she spoke, chewing thoughtfully and let her hair fall in front of her face. Realizing that they would be running out of time soon as she glanced at her phone, she blurted out, "When I was 13, I stole a tin of tea from the corner market." She had no idea what made her think of that, and her mouth clamped shut in a thin line. It wasn't something you would typically tell a complete stranger.

"Wha'?" The laugh that burst from him was something of a bark, and he leaned forward. "I think everyone's taken somethin' they weren't supposed ta a' least once."

She tried not to notice how dark his eyes were as she leaned forward as well, her voice pitching low. "No, you don't understand. I never break the rules. Ever. I love having rules."

"Ye love rules?"

"Yes. Structure is important."

"But ye stole a tin o' tea?" He laughed again, holding one hand up when she tried unsuccessfully to glare at him.

"I did!" She spread her hands out on the table, flexing her fingers. "It wasn't even about the tea, really. I liked the tin it was in. My mum said we didn't need any more tea, and even though I had been on my best behavior, and it was the only thing I asked her for on the trip to the market, she said no. So… I waited until she was busy arguing with the butcher about a roast, and… I slipped it into my bag."

"Ye still have tha tin, don' ye?" He was still leaning toward her, his face utterly delighted at this story.

"I might use it to keep spare change in."

"Did ye feel guilty?"

"Of course I did," she told him, exasperated. "I had never stolen anything before."

"An' since?"

She hesitated. "Does my roommate's jacket count?"

"Did ye give i' back?"

"Yes."

"No. Tha's called borrowin'." He chuckled.

"Hhmph." Jemma crossed her arms over her chest defensively and pushed herself back from the table again. "Well, I want to know something else about you. I told you my one and only secret. And all you told me was you don't like haggis." She wrinkled her nose up in distaste.

He drained the last of his beer. "Okay. Fair enough." Setting the bottle down with a thump, he squinted in thought again and ran a hand through his curls.

She swallowed dryly before picking up her sprite and sipping from it. She was not thinking about how the mess of curls on his head could be caused by her fingers instead or how soft they looked. They had been speaking for less than three minutes. Nearly three minutes, now. Time was almost up.

"I do murals. In tha city. On some abandoned buildin's."

"Is that legal?"

He shrugged. "Should've known tha' would be yer first question, ya tea thief."

"What do you paint in them?"

"All kinds o' things, really. Depends on where it is, my mood." He shrugged again. "A bit different from my day job, but i' helps get my head clear sometimes."

"And what-" she began, wanting to know what he did for a living, but the timer dinged, letting her know that the final round of the night was up. "Oh." Jemma turned her head, looking in Bobbi's direction as she clapped her hands and started speaking. "It was very nice to meet you," Jemma murmured, spinning back to face him, but he was gone.

-o-


	2. Chapter 2

Jemma woke the next morning with almost all of the usual hallmarks of a hangover. Only a slight headache, but an awful taste in her mouth, a distinct need to shower - and everything smelled like garlic. She wasn't entirely sure  _why_  everything smelled like garlic, but it was as though she had slept with a clove of it under her pillow. At least she only felt slightly nauseated instead of like she was going to spill the entire contents of her stomach at any moment.

Instead of thinking too hard about it, she shuffled into her bathroom for a shower and some serious teeth brushing. After throwing on a set of clean pajamas (she was certainly not going outside today), she padded into the living area of the apartment to find Skye and Bobbi perched on the sofa with a box of pastries on the table in front of them.

There was also a cardboard box on the table from the pizza place nearby (which explained the garlic that Jemma was smelling) and several empty beer bottles.

Bobbi was clutching a cup of coffee and eying the box of pastries warily.

"I'm surprised you're up," Jemma murmured to Skye, collapsing into a chair. She vaguely remembered the three of them returning to the apartment with a box of pizza, courtesy of Lance, and Skye spending much of the night grilling Bobbi on the matchmaking process, and then the bartender, while they drank their weight in alcohol. For Jemma that probably hadn't been the best plan since she had lost count of how many vodka sodas she'd had before Lance had cut her off. Both times.

"Nothing cures a hangover like Mama May's chocolate croissants," Skye responded, pulling one from the box and pushing it toward Jemma.

She wrinkled her nose, but accepted the box and grabbed a pastry for herself, inhaling the smell of chocolate and butter before taking a bite. Mama May's was a bakery just up the street, and Skye was correct. Her chocolate croissants were one of the best things they had discovered when moving into their apartment. There was nothing for a hangover quite like one of the chocolate croissants.

Bobbi still watched them eat, unsure until Jemma shook the green paper box in her direction. She leaned forward with a groan and grabbed a pastry as well.

"So… I can't exactly remember," Skye said before taking another bite of her pastry and speaking around it, "but how did the matchmaking go?"

"Oh, god," Bobbi groaned again, setting her coffee on the table and dropping her pastry back in the box. "I hope I didn't match people up while we were drinking." She groped around under the coffee table with one hand and found her bag, where her company tablet and the envelope with all the comment cards from the night before were stored.

Jemma shook her head, but Skye laughed gleefully as Bobbi turned on the tablet and started spreading cards out on the table. Once she had the 25 cards in front of her, she feverishly began tapping the screen.

"Oh, thank god. I didn't send out any matches." Bobbi sighed in relief and allowed her eyes to scan the cards in front of her. "You guys don't mind if I do this here, do you? We're supposed to get clients the matches by noon the next day."

"Nah, I wanna see how this works," Skye told her, crossing her legs beneath her and leaning around Bobbi to peer at the comment cards. "What if five people pick the same dudes?"

"Everybody fills out a profile for us too, so the computer program has already analyzed the likelihood of matches in the pool. We give preference to the best matches if people pick the same guy. Everyone knows they could wind up with multiple matches. But we don't match anyone with more than three people. It's the rule. Then, they decide."

"You didn't make Jemma and I fill out any profiles."

"Jemma and me," Jemma corrected quietly before taking a bite of her croissant.

Skye waved a hand at Jemma. Grammar was the least of her concerns.

"You guys were fill-ins. I didn't think you'd actually want to be matched up." A slow smile spread across Bobbi's face as she leaned back against the arm of the couch and poked Skye with her foot. "Skye, did you meet a boy?"

"Pfft. No." Skye grinned. "I did, however, meet a  _man_. A fireman as a matter of fact."

The two of them laughed, and Jemma determinedly chewed her pastry and tried to remember everything from the night before.

"What's his number? I'll see if he's matched with anyone else."

"Six."

"What?" The word escaped Jemma's mouth before she registered it, and she coughed as a bit of croissant went down her throat the wrong way. After a moment of spluttering and getting herself under control, she asked, "did you say six?"

"Jemma Simmons," Bobbi teased, "did you find someone you liked?"

"You couldn't possibly have picked number six," Skye said with a chuckle. "We never have the same taste in guys!"

"I didn't-" Jemma started to say.

"Who is he?" Skye asked Bobbi. "Show us his profile."

Bobbi went through her spreadsheets, finding the list of guys assigned to the previous night's speed dating. "Let's see… six is… Antoine Triplett. Goes by Trip. Volunteer firefighter. Paramedic. Originally from North Carolina. Likes sports cars, extreme sports, and Sunday dinners with his mom. He's such a boy scout, but pretty hot." She turned her tablet around to show Skye his profile, complete with picture.

"That's not number six," Jemma muttered as she leaned forward and looked at the profile as well.

"Yeah, it is," Skye sighed.

"No, he was pale, shorter, dark blue eyes, curly hair, and," Jemma cleared her throat, "Scottish."

"Scottish?" Bobbi echoed. "Hmm." She took the tablet back from Skye who made a disappointed sound in the back of her throat. "Maybe his number was upside down. Let me see who nine is." She tabbed back through to her list and brought up the profile for number nine. "Jasper Sitwell. Definitely not Scottish."

She turned it around so Jemma could see the picture and Jemma blanched. She remembered Jasper Sitwell. He'd gone on and on about the decision to shave his head. The most she'd got out during the conversation was that it looked nice. She shook her head.

"That's not him either."

Bobbi's brow furrowed, and the pastries sat forgotten on the table as she asked Jemma question after question about him, going through all the registered participants for the night. Twenty minutes later, all three women were shaking their heads.

"There's no one in here that matches anything you said. Not his description, not his hobbies, nothing. He wasn't registered." Bobbi looked up at her, concerned. "Who jumps into a speed dating night without registering for it?"

-o-

Jemma decided, after getting worried looks from both Bobbi and Skye that maybe she was misremembering things. After all, she'd had a lot to drink the night before. Much more than she usually would, even on a girls' night in with them. She could have imagined the accent. Or maybe she was confusing several of the things people had told her. She waved off their concern, and helped Bobbi keep track of the numbers as she began matching everyone up.

"Okay… Raina… she only put down one number… Ah, yes, Gordon. Good." Bobbi nodded, sending out the alert for Raina. "The program matched them at 98%. Highest match out of this pool. I was hoping they'd hit it off."

"98? Really? That seems so… unlikely." Jemma sipped on the tea she'd made for herself.

"They have a lot in common. Both grew up in the foster system and actually work for the Department of Children and Family Services now. Kind of surprised they've never crossed paths before." Seeing Jemma and Skye's raised eyebrows, Bobbi rolled her eyes. "The system accounts for differences too. We give everyone a list of 40 interests to rank, and they have almost the exact opposite in interests despite how much they actually have in common in everyday life. So, there's enough in common for them to get along, but enough different to keep things interesting."

"That's kind of genius," Skye said.

"It just means there's a lot of complicated math involved. Koenig redesigns the personality tests every few months." Bobbi put all the cards back in her bag with her tablet. "Oh, this is all supposed to be confidential, so - no telling anyone about the matches, right?"

Skye gave her a mock salute. "You forwarded me Trip's info though, right?"

"Yes, Skye."

-o-

Jemma spent most of the weekend hanging out with Skye and Bobbi, but Monday night, not exactly the typical date night, Skye had her evening out with Trip and Bobbi was working another round of speed daters. Jemma, deciding to be productive, went through job listings online for a couple of hours, but found herself discouraged with the amount of people paying minimum wage for jobs that certainly required specific skill sets. She closed her laptop with a snap, and stared at the green paper box from Mama May's still sitting on her kitchen counter.

Since she and Skye had moved into the apartment, she hadn't baked a single thing. Skye was always stopping by Mama May's on her way home from work or suggesting they pop in after a night out, so Jemma hadn't felt the need. But now, home alone, without a job, and with the image of the mysterious Number Six, who wasn't actually the number six floating around in her brain, she decided she needed something to take her mind off things.

She set out enough butter to sufficiently clog her arteries so it would soften, and started perusing the pantry to see what exactly it was she could make.

Their pantry was depressingly void of any real ingredients, but she did have the basics, so she put on some music and set about making a simple Scottish shortbread recipe - a cookie that wasn't too sweet, and with the right amount of butter would just melt in your mouth.

She couldn't remember the last time she made Scottish shortbread, and was sure she could figure out the reason she was making it now if she chose to think about it. Even if as she measured out ingredients, mixed dough, and pricked holes in the top of cookie bars, she was replaying the conversation she'd had with Number Six over and over in her mind.

She sighed and put the first batch in the oven.

She wanted to know who he was. She was about 90% certain that he wasn't stalking her because she had never seen him before. Unless he was really good at it. And he didn't seem like a psychopath. Then again, did you always know someone was a psychopath when you met them?

Jemma loaded the dishwasher.

_No, I would know. We clicked._

It wasn't that she was even looking for a boyfriend. It wasn't like her to actively seek one out. But he seemed like he would be interesting to spend time with. Even just as friends. He painted murals, after all. Illegal murals. He probably had good stories to tell.

_Illegal murals._

Jemma grinned and grabbed her computer to start searching. Wasn't there a whole movement going on online with people who documented street art?

When Skye came through the front door with a doggie bag for Jemma and a flower tucked into her hair a couple of hours later, she found the kitchen counter covered in cooling shortbread cookies, and Jemma with a half empty plate of them next to her as she read from her laptop screen.

"Whoah. I brought you dinner. Trip took me to this great Brazilian place I thought you might like. But I see you've already eaten your weight in cookies." Skye set the bag down on the only available counter space.

"Mmm." She absentmindedly reached for another cookie.

"Jemma! Put the cookie down."

"What?" Jemma turned her head and saw Skye trying not to laugh at her.

"Since when do you sugar binge?"

"There's not that much sugar in these. It's mostly flour and butter." She held the cookie in her hand out so Skye could try it, and when Skye took it, nibbling cautiously before smiling, Jemma nodded her head. "See?"

"These are really good! You should sell them to May. I bet she'd love to have these in her shop!"

"I don't know if there's a huge market for Scottish shortbread in the neighborhood."

"Scottish?" Skye started to raise her eyebrows.

"How was your date?" Jemma asked before Skye could start pumping her for information instead.

Skye rolled her eyes at her, but flopped down backwards over the arm of the couch that was just a few steps away from the kitchen in the tiny apartment. "It was great," she remarked, running one finger over the edge of the cookie still in her hand. "The place he took me to had dinner  _and_ dancing, and we talked about his family because I told him I didn't really have one, and he didn't push, and he didn't think it was weird that I ate enough food for like, five people, and he didn't order for me, which you know is always a deal breaker, and he didn't even suggest wine, and thought it was cool that I ordered this huge fruity blue drink thing, and he's really funny, and I knew he was cute and everything already, but I think I really like him."

Skye said it all in a rush before closing her mouth with a snap and looking at the ceiling, so Jemma closed her laptop and moved to sit down next to her.

"You  _really_  like him, huh?" She asked, and Skye tilted her head back on the couch to peer up at her, her forehead pressing into the side of Jemma's thigh as she sat.

"Yeah… I do." Skye's face softened and she let out a slow breath. "He seems like a good guy."

"Good. If you're happy, I'm happy." She paused. "I suppose speed dating isn't a complete waste of time, after all," she teased her for good measure.

Skye laughed. "Yeah, who knew?" She nibbled on the cookie again. "So… how's the job search going?"

"Ugh." Leaning back and shifting away from Skye, Jemma covered her face with a throw pillow.

"I take it you don't want to talk about it?"

There was something of a sigh and a frustrated growl that came from underneath the throw pillow, so Skye reached up and yanked the pillow away.

"There's no way I'm going to be able to make what I was making before at any of the entry level jobs in any restaurant in the city that's hiring. I never should have quit."

"Jemma. The restaurant was a front for an illegal gambling ring. If you'd stayed, you'd have lost your job anyway… I still think you should talk to May. She loves you."

"May doesn't need a hostess. Or a bartender. Or a waitress. Or someone to do her books. She'd only want me as a full time baker and I don't know how to make half of the things she sells."

"What about Lance?"

Jemma wrinkled her nose and met Skye's gaze. "You think I should work for Lance?"

"He doesn't own the bar!" Skye cocked her head to the side. "He doesn't, right? I feel like he would have been rubbing that in our faces at some point that we're practically the same age and he owns his own business."

"No… I don't think so. But I got the impression he basically runs the place. He didn't make me pay for any drinks." As Jemma spoke, the nausea inducing memory of eating a bowl of maraschino cherries made its way to the surface of her brain.

"Hm. You should see if they need another waitress. You can totally handle drunk dudes. And you can probably mix drinks better than he can."

"Yeah, okay. I'll go see him tomorrow." Jemma picked at an imaginary thread on the bottom of her shirt. For some reason, the idea of asking Bobbi's ex for help didn't sit well with her, but it would give her a much needed paycheck while she looked for something better.

-o-

Jemma was up at dawn the next morning, but she forced herself to get things done around the apartment and not show up at the bar immediately and have to wait for someone to be there at a time of day when there was no reason for anyone to be there. Because it was a bar. Who showed up at a bar in the middle of the morning? Not people she wanted to be around, probably. She didn't even know if Lance worked that day, but decided if he wasn't there, she'd just say he could act as a reference.

She took her time getting dressed, moving as slowly as possible, delicately applying makeup, and traveling nearly soundlessly throughout the apartment so she wouldn't wake Skye.

When she finally made her way down the street, the snow from the weekend had nearly melted away, and the sidewalks were slick with the water escaping down storm drains and a grey slush that stuck to her boots. To earn herself some points with Lance, she was armed with a container of Scottish shortbread and a jar of maraschino cherries, which she thought was especially clever.

But when she reached the bar, it was locked up tight with no one in sight.

_Maybe I should have called Bobbi?_

Jemma sighed and eyed the concrete steps next to the bar's entrance with some trepidation. Who knew how many people had vomited on that very patch of concrete? She wrinkled her nose and inspected the area before she took a seat, placing her gifts next to her and propping an elbow on one knee, chin in her hand, and waited.

And waited, with nothing but the cold steps to keep her company. She shifted slightly in her seat.

And waited some more, stomping her feet a little on the concrete and turning to look up and down the street.

Didn't they have anything to prepare before opening the bar that evening?

After waiting for nearly an hour, and receiving strange looks from people passing her on the street - one woman even prepared to hand her a five dollar bill before Jemma glared at her and snapped that she was waiting for someone - she stood up with a sigh, the muscles of her backside tingling where they had fallen asleep.

She bent and picked her offerings up from the pavement, straightening up just in time to see Lance sauntering his way down the street.

"Of course," she muttered to herself in annoyance. "Where have you been," she called to him when he was in earshot, "I've been sitting here for an hour!"

Lance did a double take over his sunglasses. "Jemma? Was I supposed to meet you here?"

Shuffling her feet and trying to hold on to the fact that Lance was likely late for work and she should be angry with him, she mumbled, "well…. no. But-"

"Then what the bloody hell are you doin' here?"

Jemma pasted on her winningest smile. "I thought I could replace your maraschino cherries that I, uh, stole?" She held out the jar in one hand as Lance gave her a bemused grin. "And," she added, "as a thank you for the pizza, I made shortbread." She gestured with the container in her other hand.

Lance grinned wider, but asked as he unlocked the door, "what is it that you want, Jemma?"

She didn't answer him, just waited for him to get the door opened, and followed him inside, before he carefully twisted the lock behind them.

"Huh," she mused, looking around her at the faded wallpaper and dark wood paneling, "this place looks different in daylight."

"Yeah. Old," Lance agreed, starting to pull chairs down from tables. Jemma set her offerings on the bar top and followed suit, speaking quickly as she did.

"Did Bobbi tell you that I lost my job?"

"Oh, Jesus. Jemma-"

"I'm a great waitress. And bookkeeper. And I've tended bar before. Not that you aren't a great bartender." Jemma slid a chair into place under a table as she spoke.

"Jemma, if I could hire you, I would."

"Just one night a week? Just so I can make a little extra cash?"

Lance turned away from her to another table and pulled a chair down and righted it. "It's not up to me. I manage the place, but the owner's in charge of all the new hires."

"Couldn't you recommend me for something?" She took a step back from the table just as he turned around and she reached into her bag. "I can leave my resume with you."

"Nah. He doesn't really do resumes. If he clicks with someone, he hires them."

Her hand stilled over the surface of her bag. "That doesn't seem like a very good hiring practice."

Lance shrugged. "It seems to work out okay. We got a couple good kids working here." Jemma's hands twisted in front of her and she blinked at him. "Look, I'll ask okay? Come by tonight during business hours and we'll see?"

"Thank you!" Jemma jumped forward and threw her arms around him before quickly stepping back. She planted a kiss on his cheek and wrinkled her nose. "You should really shave."

"Bobbi likes the scruff."

Jemma rolled her eyes. "You two are divorced. I don't know why we have to keep reminding you of that."

"Just a piece of paper," Lance waved as she started to walk away. "Oi! You're leaving, just like that? I thought you were helping!" He pointed to the chairs that still needed to be pulled down.

"Well, I've got to make sure I have something bar-waitress-appropriate to wear tonight."

He laughed. "You should probably go shopping. Or ask Skye for help."

"I'm taking the cookies back."

"What? I'm trying to be helpful!" Lance ran around the bar to beat her to the cookies, successfully removing the container from her reach so he could lift the lid. "Is this Scottish shortbread?"

"Yes. We only had so many ingredients in the pantry," Jemma explained with a shrug.

"Yeah… you should really leave those here. The boss loves them. Might help me put in a good word for you." He pulled one out of the box and took a bite to emphasize his point.

"Right. I'm sure no one else will even see them," Jemma teased. "I'll see you tonight."

"Bring some more of these with you!"

-o-

"Are you sure you don't want me to go with you?" Skye was flopped on the couch, head hanging over one arm in the same position Jemma had left her in when she had disappeared into her room to change.

"Normally I don't take my roommate on job interviews…" Jemma teased as she came back out.

"Yes, but it's at a bar, where someone trusts Lance Hunter to keep things running, and - okay, you are  _so_  getting the job." Skye had tilted her head back so far over the side as Jemma walked towards her that she almost tumbled off the couch.

"If I don't freeze to death before I get there," she responded wryly. She rolled her eyes and spun as Skye sat up and gestured for her to move so she could see the whole look. Boots and tights were going to have to do to keep her covered from the possibility of the evening chill, but she had one of the shortest form fitting black dresses on she could find with the lowest neckline she could handle. She grabbed her jacket from where it was draped on the back of the couch.

"Eh, it's been warming up," Skye waved off her concern. "I didn't even wear a jacket today. You'll be fine." She took another look at Jemma's ensemble. "Seriously, people will be buying  _you_ drinks all night. That place is going to make a fortune tonight." She cocked her head to the side. "I maybe would have gone more vampy on the makeup, but you look great."

"Okay, Skye. I'm accepting your vote of confidence now, thank you." Jemma laughed. "I'll let you know how it goes."

"Just stay away from the slush! It's melting and I don't want those boots ruined!"

With a "yes, Skye," she grabbed her phone and keys, stuffing them in her pockets, and headed out.

-o-

When Jemma walked into the bar that night, the place was nearly wall to wall people. She edged her way to the bar, maneuvering herself in between and around arguing couples, fist bumping friends, and a bachelorette party before she could find the side of the bar and Lance, who was hurriedly pouring tequila into a full tray of shot glasses.

"Jemma!" He called to her over the noise. "You haven't seen a tiny girl with dark curly hair, have you? Callie? She was supposed to be here for her shift an hour ago!"

"Errm…" Jemma looked over her shoulder, but a tiny girl with dark hair could have been any number of a dozen women in the bar. "No?"

Lance passed the tray of tequila filled shot glasses off to a guy with close cropped hair and a baby face who gave Jemma a shy smile. The waiter made his way through the throng to the bachelorette party where he was promptly manhandled by the already sufficiently buzzed women.

"Do you want some help?" Jemma asked, one eyebrow quirked as Lance mixed up a series of drinks and lined them up on trays.

"Can you really mix drinks?"

"Of course I can." She tapped her temple with one finger. "Memory of an elephant. Read a bartender's handbook once."

"Then get back here."

She didn't ask if he was sure, just walked through the swinging waist high "door" that separated the back of the bar from the customers and eyed the equipment, quickly cataloging where everything was stored.

"Trial run?" She asked breathlessly as she shucked her jacket and stowed it on a shelf beneath the bar where there was nothing sticky or wet.

Lance eyed her appreciatively, then nodded his head without commenting on her wardrobe choice. "We'll see what the boss says when he gets here." He turned as a couple leaned on the bar. "What can I get you?"

"White Russian for her, whatever you have on tap for me."

Jemma got to work as Lance nodded at her and moved on to the next approaching customer.

 _It wasn't hard really, bartending_ , Jemma thought to herself nearly an hour later as she slid a tumbler of whiskey to a man in an eye patch. All she had to do was smile and mix drinks. The customers did most of the talking. He slid her a twenty in response to the tumbler and her smile.

"Oh, no, this is far too much," she told him, inclining her head with another shy quirk of her lips. She'd already had three customers buy her drinks. But that would be one very large tip.

"Not if you're putting up with him all night," he told her gesturing to Lance with his glass at the other end of the bar where Lance was chatting up a couple of women who looked like they had just reached the legal drinking age.

"You make an excellent point." Jemma watched as Lance fed a cherry to one of the girls and curled her lip up in disgust.

"Don't get any ideas. I don't even like cherries," the whiskey drinker deadpanned.

"After eating an entire bowl full of them, neither do I."

"Did you lose a bet?"

"Worse. I was drinking on an empty stomach."

The man nodded sagely.

He sat on his barstool for the better part of the next hour, nursing the same drink - it was like he was waiting for something, but Jemma wasn't sure what. Every so often he would shift on his stool, his one good eye carefully roaming the room. But Jemma just kept working until a tiny girl with dark curly hair in skinny jeans and an off the shoulder sweater was barreling her way to the back of the bar as she removed her coat.

Lance, who had been at Jemma's end of the bar grabbing a bottle of peach schnapps, turned to her and just folded his arms over his chest, the bottle dangling from his fingers and making him look much less intimidating.

"I'm sorry!" She shook her head as she shook out moisture from her coat. "I had to take the subway, and it broke down, and I have no cell reception in the tunnels!" She tied an apron around her waist as she spoke. "Also, it's finally warm enough for rain, so we're probably going to get some looky-loos blocking the front door."

"Terrific," Lance muttered.

"Looky-loos?" Jemma echoed, turning the tap off for the pitcher of beer she had been filling.

"Oh, hey, new girl, right?"

"She's just helping because you weren't here," Lance cut in. "Jemma''s waiting for an interview."

"Again, sorry!" Callie shook her head again, but she was smiling as Lance walked away. "Yeah, there's this crazy good street artist who paints on the building across the street. He uses that specialty crap that you can only see when it rains though. It's awesome. No one knows when he does it, but his stuff just appears." Her eyes widened as she looked more closely at Jemma. "Holy shit. You're her."

"Yes. New girl. Possibly. Waiting on that interview."

"No.  _You're her_."

"I'm who?"

"The girl on the building." Callie laughed. "I can't believe it, but it's totally you."

"I'm sorry, I don't know…"

"Go out front and look! I've got this." Callie practically shooed Jemma out from behind the bar. The man in the eye patch had an expression on his face that might have been a smile if he had done anything that even remotely looked like he was smiling the whole time he'd been there. "Hey, Nick. Want a refill?"

Jemma pushed her way through the crowd, though it had thinned out considerably as the bachelorette party had moved on, and exited through the front door.

And found that Callie wasn't wrong.

She stood carefully against the building, shielding herself from the rain, but across the street, just above eye level, was her face, propped up by her chin as if she was sitting at a table made by the window and leaning on it, an enigmatic smile on her face. Considering she only knew one person who would ever paint her face on the side of a building, it was an amazing likeness for having only met her for three minutes.

Jemma stood there in silence, heart pounding in her chest as people under umbrellas kept stopping to look. The harder it began to rain, the starker the white paint was on the side of the building, and other images started to surface. There was a teacup next to her on the sill instead of the vodka soda she had been drinking that night, and she bit down on her lip as she remembered her story, but when a bowl of cherries also became visible, she laughed out loud.

But she had long been done with the bowl of cherries when she met him.

And he  _had_  mentioned seeing her talking to Lance.

Jemma spun on her heel and went back inside.

"Callie," she called as she made her way back over to the bar, "do you know who does the paintings?"

"Nope. Like I said, they just show up. Wish I did though. I'd get him to paint something for my apartment. Maybe on my bathroom wall so the steam would activate it? How cool would that be?" She balanced a tray of martinis on her hand and walked past Jemma to a group of women in pencil skirts and blazers.

Jemma chewed on her lip, and instead of moving back behind the bar, she took a seat on a stool next to Nick.

"Never had anyone paint you on a building before, huh?"

"Can't say that I have, no," Jemma told him, offering him another smile.

"Convenient that he managed to get a new piece up right before the rain came through… Any idea who he is?"

"No." She sighed.

"You know what I think?"

"Hmmm?"

"The guy's either a regular or an employee."

"What makes you say that?"

"Well…" Nick took a slow sip from his glass and Jemma found herself tapping her foot impatiently on the bottom rung of the barstool. "His whole thing is painting with that specialty paint that only shows up in the rain? Stuff lasts for a few months, so he's got a few different abandoned buildings he paints on, but he always comes back to that building as soon as the last picture's worn away." At Jemma's surprised eyebrow raise, he added, "I'm a regular, I see things. Gotta be somebody who's in here as much as I am. And," he paused dramatically, "the building across the street isn't abandoned."

"It's not?"

"Owned by the bar." He nodded his head and turned back to his drink.

"Really?" Jemma didn't wait for a response, she was out of her seat and rushing over to Lance. "So, when's your boss supposed to get here?"

"Should've been here by now. Rain's probably got him stalled."

"Does he like the rain?" Jemma pressed.

"Nobody actually likes the rain, Jemma." Lance shook his head, furrowing his brow in confusion. "Look, if there's somewhere else you need to be, you can go. I'll let him know you waited a couple hours and he didn't show."

"No, it's not-"

"Besides, Callie's here now, and with the rain, we'll get less people coming in."

"But-"

"You can keep your tips."

He had been stacking shot glasses on a display behind the bar as he spoke, and he turned to her with a smile.

Jemma didn't smile back. "Who does the paintings on the building across the street?"

Lance seemed to freeze for a moment before going back to stacking shot glasses. "I don't know. Something like that, probably not legal. They'd probably get in trouble for it."

"Unless they owned the building," Jemma prompted. "Or got permission from the owner."

"Sure… I guess." He stacked the last of the glasses. "Why the sudden interest in street art?"

"Have you seen what's painted out there?" He shook his head. "It's me!"

Lance laughed. "That's impossible."

"You don't think I could inspire an artist?" Jemma's hands found their way to her hips and she stood to her full height, which put the two of them nearly eye to eye as he was slouching against the bar laughing at her.

"That's not what I meant." She waited, but he started laughing again.

"Ugh." Jemma made her way around the bar and grabbed her things. "Sometimes," she snapped at him, "I think we're actually friends, and then I remember I only know you because I'm friends with your ex-wife, and I realize that she's right about you in a lot of ways."

"Oi!"

"I'll come back tomorrow when your boss is here."

She pushed by him before he could say anything else, in such a hurry to get outside and snap a picture of the building to send to Skye that she didn't notice that someone else had entered from the storeroom at the back of the bar, his eyes following her all the way out the door. She also didn't hear him ask Lance what was going on, his words stilted and somewhat strangled as his eyes took in her dress; she was already snapping her picture and speeding down the sidewalk. By the time he got the story out of Lance and was outside looking for her, she was gone, just her likeness left on the building across the street.

-o-


	3. Chapter 3

"I knew he was real," Jemma sighed into her phone.

"It's not that I didn't think he was real," Skye protested weakly on the other end of the line.

"Really?" Jemma laughed. "I'm fairly certain your insistence that Trip was the only Number Six indicated that you didn't actually believe that I met someone."

"Okay, in all fairness, Lance had given you a lot, and I mean  _a lot_ , of drinks that night, okay?"

Jemma dodged a couple walking on the sidewalk and hopped over a track of slush that was working its way to a storm drain so as not to damage Skye's boots. She'd never hear the end of it if anything happened to them. "Yes, that's true." She paused as she came to their block. "What do you think I should do now?"

"Stake out the building? He's got to come back eventually," Skye joked.

"Yes, but they said it's every few months. He paints other places in between." She sighed again, but this one was more out of frustration than anything else. "I'm going back to the bar tomorrow to see if I can still get an interview with the owner. He wasn't there tonight. If the building across the street belongs to him too, maybe he gives Number Six permission to paint there?"

"Well, yeah. He has to if the guy keeps coming back, right?"

Jemma climbed the stoop up to their building and let herself in. "Yes. I looked into the different places where abandoned buildings have been painted on before, but I wasn't looking for art that only appeared in the rain. I wonder why he paints like that?"

"It's eye catching," Skye pointed out. "I mean, if an artist wants to get noticed, everyone's going to be checking out the magic paint."

"It's not magic," Jemma huffed, climbing up the stairs, and then went into an explanation of how the reaction worked, but by the time she got to their floor, she could tell Skye was tuning her out. "Besides," she added, key turning in the lock to their door, "I think he tries to stay under the radar, or he would be painting on things other than abandoned buildings. It's not technically illegal to paint images on city owned property as long as it isn't offensive, not covering up important information, and not advertising anything. If there's some sort of message of positive expression, he wouldn't get in trouble."

"And what is the positive message of your portrait on a building?" Skye's eyebrow was quirked and her curious expression was aimed at Jemma as she opened the door.

"That's not city property," Jemma shot back, closing the door behind her with a click and disconnecting their call. "It doesn't really matter what he paints there as long as he has permission from the owner."

"And so, it all comes back to the mysterious bar owner," Skye mused "What's the name of the bar? I can always see if the property owner is publicly listed. Stuff like that's supposed to be public record."

"The Monkey's Uncle," she answered, discarding her belongings on the table on her way to Skye's side. "Odd name for a bar."

Skye snorted as she plopped onto the couch, pulling her feet up underneath her and putting her computer in her lap while Jemma took a seat next to her. "Right, cause you Brits don't go with the weird things like the celery stalk and the cannon ball." Jemma rolled her eyes and prepared to retort, but Skye was already typing. "All right. Let's see what we've got."

Next to her, Jemma was staring at the picture she had taken on her phone. She still didn't understand how someone could make her look so pretty when they were only working with one color of paint. It shouldn't be possible.

"You didn't tell me how working with Lance at the bar went," Skye prompted as she typed.

Jemma shrugged. "Fine, I guess. It's a pretty busy place. I'm surprised Bobbi was able to get them to agree to let her use half the space for speed dating, to be honest. It was packed. The staff seems nice. A couple of kids. Lance." Jemma made a face at that when Skye looked over at her. "He's actually a good bartender. Flirts with the younger crowd that's just starting to legally buy drinks. Gets them to buy more. Trades sarcastic comments with the regulars. I can understand why he basically runs the place. Even if he is a moron." Jemma shook her head. "I'll never understand Bobbi's taste in men."

"I don't think she's after his conversation skills." Skye laughed and turned back to her computer, fingers moving rapidly over the keyboard. It didn't take long for her to track down the owners, even if Jemma felt like it was something of an eternity as she leaned over her shoulder to look.

"There are three people who own the bar?" Jemma asked incredulously. "Lance made it seem like it was just one."

Skye shrugged. "Looks like it's family owned. Two of the names are the same. N. Fury, L. Fitz, and L. Fitz." Her lip twitched in amusement when Jemma narrowed her eyes. "You want to call every L. Fitz and N. Fury in the phone book and find out why they weren't there tonight?"

Jemma groaned and leaned back into the couch.

-o-

The next evening, Jemma and Skye were flicking their way through her clothing, having decided that she couldn't exactly wear the same dress from the night before since the other employees would comment on it. Well, Jemma was flicking through hangers in her closet, sliding them carefully to one side. Skye, on the other hand, was throwing things on the bed, pairing them up, then shaking her head, and throwing them back into the closet, where they inevitably landed on the floor.

"Skye!" Jemma yelped when the third blouse in a row suddenly hit her and draped itself over her shoulder.

"Oh. Sorry." Skye offered up a smile when Jemma turned around to face her. "Wasn't paying attention?"

"Right." Jemma rolled her eyes and put the blouse back in its rightful spot.

"Jemma, I gotta ask. Why do you own so many things that cover you up? Since I've known you, you've only worked in an industry that relies on tips and – "

"I prefer to earn tips for my impeccable service."

"You've got a great shape. I'm not saying show up to work in a bikini or anything. Just, you know, let your skin breathe in those dimly lit places in the late night hours - where drunk dudes will pay twenty bucks for a beer if you smile at them the right way."

They both laughed and Jemma moved on to the shelves along the left side of her closet.

"Jemma Simmons," Skye whistled as she bounded up to her, having spotted something hanging, nearly hidden, next to the shelves. "Is this a corset? Do you actually own a corset?"

"It was part of a Halloween costume," Jemma remarked off hand, pushing it out of the way.

"Okay, but seriously? You should wear it."

"I'm not wearing a corset to a job interview!"

"Jemma, it's at a bar!"

"Yes, it's a bar. Not a strip club!"

Jemma held up what was, in her opinion, a tastefully modest, plain black t-shirt with a scoop neckline that would give just a hint of cleavage. Skye groaned in response and held up the corset, shaking it for good measure.

Knocking on the front door interrupted their argument.

"You expecting anyone?" Skye asked as she skipped out of Jemma's bedroom, corset still in hand.

"No? You?"

Jemma followed her at a slower pace, still holding on to the black tee as well, but Skye was shaking her head. Not even bothering to check and see who it was, Skye opened the door slowly, and before Jemma could get eyes on the visitor, her roommate broke into a wide grin.

"Hey," she said softly, and Jemma tried not to laugh at how Skye's entire posture relaxed as she let Trip into their apartment. It was like something in Skye just melted when faced with him. "Not that I'm not ridiculously happy to see you, but what are you doing here?"

"I guess you forgot that I'm not on call today? We were gonna grab drinks?"

Skye's face fell and she sighed. "I did. Jemma's having a wardrobe crisis."

"It's not a crisis." Jemma waved her hands. "Go. Have fun. I'll be fine."

"So you're Jemma," Trip said smoothly, reaching out a hand to shake hers. "Sorry, we keep missing each other."

"It's nice to meet you," Jemma responded, shaking his hand eagerly. "Anyone that makes Skye look like that," she said, pointing as she extricated her hand from his to highlight Skye beaming at them, "should come over more often."

"Jemma," Skye hissed, her cheeks warming. She waved the corset threateningly.

"Oh, God. I'm not wearing that," Jemma snapped back, trying to grab the garment from Skye's hand.

Trip easily pulled it from Skye's grasp and held it up. "Where are you going that this is an option?" he asked with a laugh.

"Jemma has a job interview."

Trip's eyebrows shot up to his hairline, though he kept his face otherwise perfectly straight.

"For a bartending position," Jemma explained hastily. "And I'm wearing this," she added, holding up the t-shirt in hand.

"Yeah… you should probably save this for after you get the job and want to get some extra cash out of the regulars." Trip handed the corset over to her.

"Huh. That's a good point," Skye agreed.

"For the last time," Jemma muttered as she stalked back to her bedroom to change. "It was part of a Halloween costume!"

"Then why'd you keep it?" Skye shot back.

Jemma didn't have an answer other than that it had cost her a nice chunk of her paycheck and that the stitching in the design was too pretty to let go. She sighed and changed quickly into jeans and her t-shirt. She had tried looking like some sort of upscale barmaid the night before, and she'd never even run into the owner. She didn't care what Skye thought at this point, she just wanted to get the interview over with and find out who was painting her face on buildings in the city.

When she emerged into the living room, Trip and Skye were waiting by the door and Skye was opening a container of shortbread cookies for him.

"You never took these with you last night," Skye explained. "I figured you wouldn't mind if Trip tried one."

Jemma shrugged. "Lance did say I should bring them. That his boss liked them. I'll take a container with me tonight."

"Lance? I know a Lance. Kind of a tool," Trip told them before he bit into a cookie. "Is this Scottish shortbread?" He swallowed with a grin. "Where are you applying for this job?"

Trip listened to Jemma's story as they walked, his grin growing wider with every piece that she added to it. When she finished telling him about the job interview and the painting and everything before, he shook his head, and tangled his fingers with Skye's. "I should have agreed with you. She should have worn the corset."

"What?" Jemma asked. "That is not appropriate job interview attire." She clutched the container of cookies to her middle as they approached the bar. She looked across the street, but all evidence of her portrait on the building was gone without the rain uncovering it.

"You two said this guy had a number six on him. But  _I_  was number six. And neither of you thought it would be a good idea to ask me why someone else was wearing my number?"

"Ohmigod!" Skye smacked Trip lightly in the chest. "You know him! You know who he is!"

She was up on her toes, bouncing in front of the door while Jemma stood there, frozen to the spot.

"You know him?" she asked more quietly.

"He's a friend. A good friend." Trip nodded. "The bar's kind of a hangout for the guys at my station. And the guys dared me to do the speed dating set up. I couldn't actually stay the whole time. I was on call. So… I asked him if he could cover for the last few tables for me because I didn't want anyone to be left out." He shrugged apologetically.

"Such a gentleman," Skye joked.

"That's against the rules," Jemma cut in. "He wasn't vetted by Bobbi's background checks."

"Oh, and you two were," Trip shot back with a smile. "I'm pretty sure Skye called me directly instead of going through my dating profile."

"Fair enough," Jemma agreed. Skye was still bouncing excitedly, looking back and forth between them.

"So, who is he?" Skye pressed.

Trip chuckled and opened the door for them.

"I think I can pretty much guarantee you  _will_ find him tonight."

The two women walked through the door, and Jemma wanted to ask more questions, but Callie was in front of her with a tray of drinks and wide eyes the instant she was over the threshold.

"Thank God, you came back today! We're slammed and Donnie's in the back because one of the freezers stopped working and Seth never showed up for his shift again and Lance is biting my head off! Please help? We can split tips!"

"We'll just grab a table. You can get to us when you get to us," Trip said, smoothly taking Jemma's belongings from her and finding an open booth with Skye. Skye shot Jemma two thumbs up on the way. Jemma didn't know if she was comforted by them supporting her search for Number Six or if she was self-conscious that they were going to be watching her wait for another job interview.

"Look, I know you're not technically hired, but you were great, and you put Lance in his place last night, and Nick seems to like you, so you're basically a shoe-in. Please. It's like… call backs for an audition or something. You're already on the short list!"

"Okay," Jemma laughed. "What do you need?"

"Three shots of top shelf tequila, two rum and cokes, the cheap stuff, a pitcher of the light beer we've got on tap tonight, and five hard ciders. I'll drop these off, and then come grab them." The look Callie gave her as she walked away was nothing short of someone whose prayers had been answered, and Jemma shook her head in amusement.

_And Lance had thought they had enough people._

She snuck around to the side of the bar while Lance was busy with a group of customers and began lining up Callie's drinks. He didn't even notice she was there until she and Callie had got them loaded on trays and a line of guys at the bar had started giving her their orders.

"Jems!" Lance called to her as he passed her by for a stack of shot glasses. "I'm sorry about yesterday. I wasn't laughing because – "

"Don't worry about it," Jemma rolled her eyes at the customer in front of her, a guy in a navy uniform who winked at her.

"What time do you get off, sweetheart?"

"Oh, she'll probably close the place down," Lance said, his tone light and teasing, but his eyes flashing a warning. "I wouldn't wait up for her."

"Lance!" Jemma laughed as the guy took his drink and walked away with a scowl. "What-"

"Trust me, Jems. He's not your type." He grinned at her, and it was the same kind of smile Trip had been sporting when he was listening to her story. She had a distinct feeling that they both knew something she didn't, but she was too bogged down in drink orders to worry about it at the moment, so she just elbowed Lance in the side and moved down the line.

It was another 30 minutes before she even made her way over to Trip and Skye with a pitcher of beer and two glasses.

"Thanks, we were starting to think we'd never see a waitress," Skye teased her.

"I'm sorry!" One of Jemma's hands nervously played with her necklace as she glanced around the bar. "I don't know how they run this place when there only ever seems to be three employees. It's always so busy."

Skye waved a hand dismissively while Trip poured her a glass. "Less people working means more tips for you. You'll be fine. The staff seems to like you. How can the owner turn you down?"

Trip, who had been starting to sip from his own drink, sputtered into it and tried to hide a chuckle.

"Is there something wrong with it? Callie said it was one of the house brews, a little citrusy, that you would like it." Jemma anxiously stepped closer to the table and grabbed the handle of the pitcher, looking into it like the amber liquid would give her answers.

"No, it's good!" Trip chuckled again. "I think Skye's right. It's gonna be fine."

A large bag plopped down onto the surface of the table just before a body slid into the side of the booth opposite Trip and Skye.

"Yes," Bobbi said, nodding her head. "Another successful match made. What are we drinking?"

"I'm pretty sure we did all the work," Skye shot back, sliding Bobbi her glass while Jemma began rattling off all the information about the beer Callie had given her.

When Jemma was finished, Bobbi nodded her head again and took a sip before sliding it back to Skye.

"It's good."

"I'll grab a glass for you," Jemma said with a smile and turned away just in time to hear Skye ask Bobbi what she was doing at the bar.

"Lance called me. He said Jemma was coming to talk to the owner. You're not going to believe this…"

But Jemma didn't hear the rest of the conversation as she entered the throng of customers. She spotted a familiar face sidling up to an empty bar stool and sliding into place.

"Hello, Nick!" she said brightly, dropping a fresh glass onto Callie's tray with an instruction to send it over to Bobbi, as she walked up to the regular. "Your usual?"

"You've worked here one night and you already know my usual?"

"I happen to have an excellent memory." Jemma leaned forward on the bar with a grin.

"I'm feeling adventurous tonight. How about you make me one of the classics?"

"What would you like?"

"Surprise me."

Jemma studied him for a moment, her head cocked, before she nodded and set about mixing him a drink. When she presented it to him with a flourish, he took an exaggerated sip and nodded his own head in approval.

"I cannot remember the last time someone made a decent sidecar." He slid a twenty across the table to her.

"I'll get your change."

"No need. Consider this part of your audition. I got an in with the owner." He raised an eyebrow at her in challenge.

"Okay." Jemma grinned again. "What do you want me to make next?"

-o-

Between Nick's requests for a bevy of classic drinks, which he then passed on to some of the people at the bar around him, and keeping up with the regular orders sent her way by Callie, she almost forgot that she was supposed to be meeting the owner to see if she could actually work at the bar.

Until she heard a familiar voice from the other end of the bar as it moved closer to her.

"Nick, stop badgerin' my staff."

"She's not staff yet. She's auditioning." Nick took another sip from his new drink and smirked.

"Ah, ye must be Hunter's friend."

Jemma held her breath as she turned around. After hearing the accent that she had begun to suspect her inebriated mind had invented, she expected the face she found there, but it still startled her into letting out nothing more than a squeak.  _He_  was there, in a grey t-shirt and a pair of faded jeans, a few days stubble on his chin, and the brightest blue eyes she'd ever seen.

The owner's mouth dropped open slightly and his eyes widened, but he recovered quickly, though his cheeks were still stained a bright pink. "Yer lookin' fer a job, then?"

"You," Jemma finally breathed through the word. "You -" she tried to get the rest of the words out as she understood Trip's smile and Hunter's weird reaction to the flirting man in uniform now. She couldn't make herself say anything else though, and she turned her head slightly to catch Nick's eye as he hid a smile behind his glass. Her eyes darted over to where Bobbi, Skye, and Trip were watching her. Skye smacked Trip on the shoulder, probably upset that she hadn't thought to ask him about Jemma's situation, again.

"Erm," his fingers grazed her arm, urging her to look at him. "Would you like to speak in my office?"

"Your office?" Jemma echoed. "Yes. Your office. Of course. Because this is your bar."

Neither of them spoke as he led her through the crowded side of the bar, fingers looping around her wrist without hesitation to make sure they weren't separated. When they reached the corridor off to the side, it was quieter, only one or two people traveling through to the restrooms, but they kept going to a door at the back marked  _Employees Only_ and through it to a set of stairs that led them up another hallway.

He didn't let go of her wrist the entire time, but Jemma didn't care. She was pretty sure the press of his fingers into her skin was the only thing keeping her certain she wasn't hallucinating this entire thing, that Lance wasn't pulling some sort of elaborate practical joke on her.

"So…" he began, finally releasing her wrist as they approached a door that he had to unlock. "You're a friend of Lance's?"

"No. Not exactly. I mean, I suppose we're friends. Very casual friends." Jemma shook her head as she stammered. "I'm really more friends with his wife. Ex-wife. Bobbi."

"Right." He practically hit his head on the door when he finally got it unlocked and open, ushering her through. "The speed date organizer. I remember."

"Yes."

The both stood awkwardly inside his office for a moment, and rather than look at him, Jemma glanced around at the piles of papers and folders - there were delivery notices, receipts for purchases, lists of components needed for a complicated looking brewery system - they were everywhere.

"You should really think about setting up a filing system," she remarked offhand, then winced.

_Maybe you shouldn't be telling him how to run his business, Jemma. Looks like he's keeping pretty busy._

"Yeah. I haven't, uh, spent much time here the last few days."

Her gaze landed on him as his cheeks colored a deeper shade of pink and he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. She had been prepared to grill him, to find out if he was some sort of stalker, but he was so adorably embarrassed that she couldn't even really tease him about it.

"I imagine," she tried, deciding to stop beating around the bush since he knew that she had seen the picture he painted across the street, "that hobby of yours keeps you pretty busy outside of the office."

"Yeah," he agreed, smiling shyly at her, "sometimes, ye get a picture in yer head and it just won't go away."

Jemma nodded and pursed her lips together to keep herself from smiling back too widely before she held out her hand. "Jemma. Simmons." Her voice sounded formal, but she softened it with another smile.

"Fitz," he told her as he gripped her hand and shook.

"Just Fitz?"

"Leo. Leopold, really, but no one calls me tha'. Fitz is… better."

"Fitz, then." He didn't let go of her hand, and she felt her pulse jump. She wasn't entirely sure if a job offer was still going to be on the table, and she wasn't entirely sure if she cared anymore either. Except that she really did need a job or, knowing Skye, her roommate was going to be doing something illegal to pay next month's rent.

"Hunter tells me yer a great bartender. And that yer not half bad at waitin' tables either."

"Oh. Really? I almost expected him to tell you I was rubbish."

Fitz grinned and slowly let her fingers slip away as he dropped his hand to his side and leaned against his desk. "Nah. He seems to like ye. Dunno why if yer friends with Bobbi. Can't stop complainin' about tha' one." He gestured to the chair, but Jemma shook her head and stayed on her feet. She was too antsy to sit now. "He said ye make a mean shortbread too."

"Oh." Her mind flashed to the container sitting in a booth with Trip and Skye.

"Scottish shortbread."

"I like to bake," Jemma said with a shrug, but it was her turn to blush.

"Ye have any professional experience at it? Friend o' Nick's owns a bakery up the street. I think he's an investor in it as well. Could put in a good word for ye there."

Jemma's smile began to drop. Maybe she did still care about the job. "May's you mean? I don't… you don't want to hire me? But," she hesitated, "you said Lance told you I was great." She took a breath and her words started to speed up just as Fitz began to explain.

"It's not that I don't want to hire ye -"

"And Nick likes me. He's an investor?"

"It's just that it might cause problems."

"And Callie and I work well together."

"Now tha' everyone's seen the paintin' and I don't think Lance will -"

"She's been having me make her drinks instead of Lance."

"-keep my secret anymore."

"I really need a job, Fitz. And bartending tips are so much better than I would get in a bakery."

"It's jus'... it's a conflict of interest."

"Please."

They both took a breath and stared at one another for a moment.

"A conflict of interest?" Jemma echoed. "What kind of interest?" She took a step forward with just the hint of a smile on her face.

"Jemma, I painted ye on the side of a buildin'." His lips twitched in amusement.

"Callie doesn't know it's you. I imagine the rest of your employees don't either. And from what I hear, you might as well fire Seth anyway. He never shows up for work. Callie and Donnie are reliable, but they can't work seven full shifts a week. You need someone else. Honestly, you probably need three more people, at the very least. How does this place survive with so few employees, Fitz?"

"Lance-" Fitz started, but Jemma had taken another step forward and was now inches away from him.

"Lance can't do it all." She cocked her head to the side. "And he doesn't strike me as the kind of person who actually would do it all... I'll get Bobbi to make sure he doesn't say anything! I promise!" She leaned forward, holding her breath as she watched him swallow uncertainly.

"Well… I suppose we could start ye out a few nights a week on a trial basis." He let out a shuddering breath as his gaze darted down to her lips. Jemma was still afraid to breathe. "Until I can hire a few more people."

"Really?" Jemma bounced up on the balls of her feet and threw her arms around him. "Thank you," she whispered in his ear.

Fitz cleared his throat and eased her arms from around him as he tried to take a step back from her, but bumped back into his desk, causing a stack of papers to slide across the surface and bury his desk calendar.

"Oh!" Jemma jumped back from him, his fingertips still on her arms. "I'm so sorry. That was completely unprofessional of me, wasn't it?" He shoved his hands in his pockets and chewed on his lip in thought. Jemma's fingers played with the hem on her t-shirt for something to do. "I don't - this has never really happened to me before?" She shook her head. "I've never met someone that I, well, you know… and then found out they were my boss. I don't - I'm not entirely sure - what exactly do we do here?"

"No. I think it's my fault really. I mean, I painted the picture. And - erm…" Fitz seemed to not know what else to day. Jemma shifted her weight from side to side, and when Fitz shifted his position as well, another stack of files fell.

"Oh, for goodness' sake," Jemma muttered, and she moved around him to begin picking them up and place them into slightly more manageable stacks. Fitz did the same on the other side of the desk.

"All right," he began, "this is temporary, yeah?"

"Excuse me?" Jemma narrowed her eyes in his direction.

"The job, not," he hesitated before waving his hands around haphazardly as if that was supposed to give her an indication as to what he meant. "I mean, I guess this could be temporary as well, I don't know." He exhaled in frustration. "Lance said that you were just looking for something for now, until there was something better suited?" He shook his head. "I don't mean-"

"I understand." Jemma nodded, saving him from his blundering. This particular job  _was_  supposed to be temporary. She did have goals beyond tending bar. She swallowed and focused on the task at hand to avoid the lump that was forming in her throat. She shouldn't be upset. This would give her money while she was looking for something else. It would be fine. "Yes, temporary. I'll be looking for a more permanent position while I'm working here." She picked up a pen she found under his stack of files and placed it into the large coffee mug that looked like a monkey holding a banana. "And, erm, how long? That is," she added after seeing the puzzled expression on his face, "how long do you think it will be before you hire on enough extra help for this place? I could stay until then?"  _And get to know you better…_ Jemma didn't put a voice to that particular thought.

"I did have a couple more people interested, so… A few weeks?"

"So, we'll say a month?" Jemma offered, heart pounding in her chest. "I have a month to find another job."  _And a month in which I cannot, under any circumstances, date my boss._

"A month." Fitz agreed, holding out a hand again, his grin back in place as he bounced on the balls of his feet.

Before Jemma gripped his, she countered, "I do have a condition though."

"Yeah?"

"I want to make as much as Lance. He's probably better with your female customers, but I feel that's only fair since I can make drinks twice as quickly as he can."

Fitz laughed. "Deal."

-o-


	4. Chapter 4

"I'm heading to work," Jemma called to Skye as she walked through the living room without looking at the occupants. "Don't have sex on my sofa."

"It's a couch," Skye called back. "And how do you know we haven't?"

Jemma wrinkled her nose and twisted her head to look at Skye and Trip, settled comfortably against the pillows, watching a movie.

"We haven't," Trip assured her, but Jemma didn't unwrinkle her nose until Trip did a double take and poked Skye in the shoulder.

"Yes, well, bye!" Jemma tried to turn and walk away before Skye glanced in her direction, but it didn't work.

"Stop!" Jemma did as she was instructed, only steps from the door, until Skye bounded up behind her and turned her around. Skye gave a low whistle. "And here I thought you wanted to earn tips based on your 'exceptional service,' not your equally exceptional cleavage."

"What? This?" Jemma widened her eyes innocently and gestured to the corset she had told Skye she was never wearing to work. She had paired it with her favorite skinny jeans and her tallest boots, which she was fairly certain were going to be murder on her feet later, but it would be worth it. She had started her bartending job in simple jeans and t-shirts and sneakers, and the tips were still high enough, but her boss had been coming to work in nicely pressed and form fitting button downs over the last week or so instead of his usual t-shirts, and something told her it was important to begin stepping up her game. "There's some sort of street festival going on not far from the bar that involves beer wenches, and Callie thought we needed to compete.  _It was her idea_."

"Oh, it was Callie's idea. I see." Skye nodded as Jemma picked up a sweater to cover herself for the walk to the bar. She didn't turn to face her boyfriend while she called, "Trip, how much are we betting Jemma has sex on the bar after closing?"

"Skye!" Jemma protested. "That's so unsanitary."

"Supply room?" Skye tried, but Jemma shook her head and rolled her eyes. "Office desk, then."

"Nah, my man Fitz has pretty good self-control," Trip told them.

"Really?" Skye asked. "Have you seen Jemma? I mean, look, I know how much you like me, but even I'm a little worried you're going to jump ship right now." She paused with a slight tilt to her head. "I could jump ship."

Trip joined them by the door and put his arm around Skye's shoulders. "Jemma's great, but that's not gonna happen."

Skye ignored him and went on, "And we already know he thinks she's adorable normally. And smart. He wouldn't stop talking about how awesome she is when she reorganized his office, or when she memorized all the signature drinks in an hour, or how great that cake was she made for Callie's birthday last week, or how she handled that drunk dude two nights ago." She stopped as Jemma's eyes narrowed at her.

"How much time have you been spending at the bar?"

"Oh, I installed WiFi there last week, so Fitz and I have been hanging out there a lot. He's been letting me work from one of the back booths. He's pretty cool. He talks about you  _a lot_."

"Oh." Jemma's mouth remained in that  _oh_  as she drew in a breath. "I should get to work," she told them, staring at the floor as she pulled her sweater on. "We'll be very busy. Bobbi has another speed dating meetup tonight. Wouldn't want to be late." She clamped her lips together, but a hint of a smile still poked through.

"Jemma. You like him. We all know you like him. He likes you. Just, you know-"

"I need the job, Skye. Besides, I'm more than two weeks in and I've got an interview tomorrow. It's fine." Jemma shoved her keys and her phone in her pockets and reached for the doorknob. "Besides, what would we use to pay for that internet you love so much?" she teased.

"Trip, cover your ears. I don't want you to feel obligated to report this."

Trip did as he was told, putting his hands over his ears with a cheeky grin.

"We are not stealing from the neighbors," Jemma said before Skye could even voice her plan to splice into someone else's cable and internet.

Skye shrugged with an answering grin of her own and gestured for Trip to lower his hands. "Have fun," she called as Jemma finally made her way out of the apartment. "Do everything I would do!"

Jemma rolled her eyes and kept going.

-o-

The bar was, as Jemma had predicted, fairly packed. She found herself working the bar top itself while Lance handled Bobbi's speed daters and Callie and Donnie waited the tables. The first of Fitz's new employees, Mack as he asked to be called, had the night off. Jemma wasn't entirely sure how she felt about him just yet. He and Fitz hit it off right away, discussing the merits of the different pieces of equipment in an open catalog for Fitz's growing microbrewery, but he always seemed particularly short with her.

She suspected Lance only handled the speed daters so he could periodically annoy Bobbi, which was apparently their version of flirting. Jemma watched as Lance winked at Bobbi after ribbing her for her poor taste in light beer. Bobbi rolled her eyes in return, but smiled as she took a sip.

Focused on her work, Jemma kept her sweater on for the first 45 minutes of her shift, but started to doubt herself as Fitz showed his newest hire around the bar. She was concerned that wearing the corset might have been a touch too far. Callie had paired her corset top with a short denim skirt, and her tips kept getting higher. Donnie had also dropped three tumblers of scotch, two beer bottles, and an entire tray of margaritas during the short time Jemma had been there, and she suspected Callie's predilection for leaning on tables just enough to accentuate her cleavage and for her skirt to ride up another inch was at fault. Jemma wasn't sure what the reaction would be when she removed her own sweater.

The large number of people packed into the bar and the steadily climbing temperatures that went along with that meant Jemma couldn't justify keeping the sweater on for long though. The sweating beer bottles on the bar top were leaving rings of condensation all over the wood any time a customer left them sit for more than a minute. Jemma could feel drops of perspiration gathering on her hairline as well, even with her waves twisted up in a knot on the top of her head.

Callie's next trip up to the bar had her asking Jemma for a tray of various shots and to "take off that damn sweater already." She ran a customer's credit card on the register. "Trust me. Your tips are going to triple. Best decision we ever made."

Jemma gave her a weak smile, not wanting to admit that it wasn't really the tips she was worried about tonight, before Callie flounced away to return the card. Fitz and the new woman were getting closer to her as he explained the organizational system he and Lance had supposedly perfected. Before she could change her mind, she yanked the sleeves of her sweater down her wrists and tugged it off, throwing it onto one of the shelves below. Not looking up, she prepared Callie's tray of shots and listened as Fitz spoke to the new waitress.

"So… Callie and Donnie are workin' their way through school. They're here abou' four nights a week, sometimes five if they can swing it. Lance's here six. He's usually runnin' the bar. If he's not, I am. You'll meet Mack tomorrow, an' this-"

She bit down hard on her cheek when she could hear Fitz's gulp over the sound of the people in the bar as he must have turned to her in an effort to introduce her and got an eyeful of corset instead of sweater.

"Erm - this - Jemma - uh - Jemma helps out at the bar, sometimes she - er - waits tables. It - er - depends on where we need her." He cleared his throat as he stepped behind the bar, and Jemma smiled at the two of them, refraining from asking him just where it was  _he_  needed her. "Jemma, this is Izzy. Hartley. She's -erm - been in bartending for - uh - several years?"

"Nice to meet you," Jemma offered, adding two more shot glasses to the tray, her stomach clenching in response to the way Fitz was looking at her. The other woman nodded her head in greeting. Izzy was older than she expected when she saw her up close, but she had this air about her, like she could handle herself if a disgruntled customer decided to pick a fight.

"Damn, girl," Callie called as she made her way back to the bar. "You should have taken that sweater off when you got here!"

"Bloody hell," she heard Fitz whisper as he stepped up next to her to move out of Callie's way. He cleared his throat again. "Jemma's only here for two more weeks," he announced.

She wasn't sure if he was saying that for Izzy's benefit, his own, or hers.

Callie gave a laugh that sounded more like a disbelieving snort as she picked up her tray and rattled off a new order to Jemma. She started working on it before the other woman could finish it and walk away to drop off her shots. It was ready to go before she was half way across the bar.

"How long have you been working here?" Izzy asked as Jemma nodded at a regular who had just taken a seat at the bar.

Jemma dropped a tumbler of ice in front of him and poured out two thumbs of whiskey before she took his cash from him and worked it into the register.

"Two weeks."

"Our turnover isn't usually tha' quick," Fitz cut in quickly. "Jemma is - well she -" He looked at her for help.

"There are extenuating circumstances," she explained, her eyes not leaving Fitz's. She didn't offer up any details. "I'm just here for a month." She swallowed as Fitz's eyes dipped from her face, then quickly shot up to the ceiling. "And I have an interview tomorrow afternoon."

"You do?" Fitz's eyes were back on her as Donnie bounded up to the bar, red faced, the front of his white t-shirt soaked through.

"How many of the vodka sodas was that?" Jemma asked, surveying the damage. There were no broken glasses, just empty ones on his tray. He held up three fingers, and when Callie's laughter carried to them from a nearby table he dropped his forehead to the surface of the bar.

"I hate her," Donnie muttered.

Jemma patted his shoulder awkwardly before she started making his new drinks.

"You don't hate 'er," Fitz said with a sigh. "An' you probably shouldn't put your face on the bar."

"Right." Donnie stood up and shook his head.

"You all right?" Jemma asked sympathetically.

Donnie shook his head again and said, "Tell me that if I drop another drink, you'll fire me."

Jemma's eyes widened and she turned to look at Fitz.

"Donnie…"

"No, really. I'm great at performing under pressure. I binge on study materials for exams and I do all my papers the night before. If you're going to fire me because I keep dropping drinks, I won't keep dropping drinks."

"Fine." Fitz threw his hands up in front of him. "You drop another drink an' yer fired. Happy? Not like I'm not already interviewin' people."

"Fitz!" Jemma protested.

He held his hands palm up in a  _what do you want me to do_  gesture. Jemma slammed a glass onto the tray in response, but didn't say anything as Bobbi walked up, folders and tablet carefully tucked away since she was done for the night.

"Thanks, Fitz," she told him, handing him a check for her use of the bar's space. "Your wait staff, as usual, is awful." She grinned.

"Oh, God," Donnie groaned. "I didn't spill anything on you, did I?"

"I was talking about Lance."

"Oh, that's okay then."

Jemma added the last of his vodka sodas to his tray and he headed back in the other direction.

"Lance is Bobbi's ex-husband. He's not actually a horrible waiter," Jemma explained.

"It's like you all work in a sitcom."

"No, not really," Jemma responded.

"Yes. Exactly," Fitz agreed at the same time.

Izzy looked back and forth between them with a carefully neutral expression. "You want me to do a trial run? Hold down the bar for a while? Looks like your tables are already filling back up." She nodded in the direction over Bobbi's shoulder where the speed daters had vacated. There were already people spilling in from outside and taking seats, looking around for a server.

Jemma looked at Fitz and shrugged. "I can wait tables for a while if you'd like."

"Yeah. Yep. That's-" Fitz sucked in a breath as a group of what looked like guys from the local community college came in whooping it up. Jemma squeezed by him, not letting him finish speaking, and she felt him draw in another shuddering breath as she moved by. "Okay," he squeaked out. "I'll just - I've got some paperwork to take care of in my office if anyone needs me," he told them in a rush before all but sprinting for the back room.

-o-

Callie counted out the cash on the bar very carefully into four piles before slipping her stack into her wallet and handing Donnie his.

"Okay, boss man, we're out of here unless you need help with the rest of the cleanup."

Fitz looked up from the stack of receipts at the other end of the bar. "No, that's fine. Lance loaded the dishwasher and he's taken out the trash now." He chewed on the end of a pen in his mouth. "See you tomorrow."

Lance appeared from the back room and grabbed his cash as well, making a beeline for the front door without saying goodbye. Jemma had a feeling he was meeting up with his ex-wife. She gave a sigh as she stacked the last chair and moved to lock the door behind him, but a face appearing in the doorway made her jump back.

"Sorry," she called out as she moved to twist the lock into place, "last call is over and done with. Have a good night."

The man on the other side slammed the flat of his palm to the glass and let out an angry string of expletives and Jemma flinched before opening her mouth to respond.

"Hey!" Fitz's voice was suddenly over her shoulder as he came up behind her. "Get away from my buildin'!" He stood next to her until the guy had walked away, and then glanced over at Jemma.

"I could have handled that," she said primly. He was close enough to her that she could smell his cologne. She hadn't even noticed he was wearing any earlier over the scents of all the drinks Donnie had spilled. She took in a breath and held it there for a moment.

"I know." He cleared his throat and took a step back. "There's always someone wantin' back in after they've had enough though. Happens all the time. Jus' have to be louder than them." He shrugged and turned away from her, headed back to the bar without saying anything else.

She followed him to pick up her share of the tips, shoving the money as far into her pocket as she could, and went to retrieve her sweater from the shelf next to Fitz. She watched his shoulders tense through his shirt as she bent down next to him and plucked it from the shelf. Shrugging the sweater on as she stood, Jemma awkwardly shuffled back around to the front of the bar, searching for something else to say, but her mind was very much stuck on Skye teasing her before work, so she found herself trying not to blurt out anything too inappropriate. She decided it was probably best if she just went home.

"Goodnight, Fitz."

"Jemma. Wait." Fitz paused, paperclipping his receipts together and sliding them into a plastic bank bag with the cash for the night. "You were right."

"About?"

"You and Callie make a good team."

"Oh."

He transferred the clear plastic into a grey pouch and tucked it under his arm, carefully concealing it from anyone who might be walking by as he switched off lights before coming to the door with her. He spoke as he worked.

"Donnie, he gets nervous when Callie goes too far. He likes her, but she intimidates him." He cleared his throat. "He's never goin' to be able to bartend for her when she's flirtin' with half the customers." Fitz shook his head and pulled his keys from his pocket, gesturing in the dark for Jemma to head out. "As it is, he only covers about a third o' the tables when she's workin'."

"Maybe you should talk to him." Jemma opened the door and stood facing the street as he locked the door behind them.

"Me?" Fitz's disbelief made her turn around to look him in the eye under the dim streetlights.

"Yes, you. You don't seem to have much of a problem when a pretty girl shows some skin." She smiled widely at him. "At least you didn't break any glasses."

Fitz tilted his head as she looked at him, mouth dropping open. "I' wasn't really Callie's idea to compete with the beer wenches, was it?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Jemma shook her head quickly, smile still in place, but eyes impossibly wide, trying to maintain her innocence. "I would never intentionally make  _my boss_ uncomfortable. That would be so unprofessional of me." She dropped her voice as she added, "Especially when I only have two weeks left and I definitely want a good reference."

"All right." Fitz nodded his head. "That's how you're goin' ta play it. Okay." He crossed his arms over his chest with a laugh. "I was goin' to offer to drive you home, but would tha' be unprofessional too?"

"Actually, a ride home would be lovely. These shoes are killing me."

-o-


	5. Chapter 5

Jemma smoothed down the white button down she was wearing and picked invisible lint from her charcoal pencil skirt. She took a breath, hitched her bag a little higher up on her shoulder and pulled open the glass door in front of her. The red outline of a four tiered cake stared at her from the bright white walls of the reception area.

A young woman at the counter gestured to her with a finger to wait while she jotted down notes on a piece of paper. Her red hair was tied back into a neat braid under the phone she cradled to her shoulder.

"Yes. Of course. We don't get too many requests for ice cream cake, but Jiaying can do it all. When's the wedding? Sure. We can have you guys in for a tasting next Saturday at two? That work? Okay." She shot Jemma another smile. "And I'll make sure to pull a few options for more traditional cakes as well, just to give you an idea. Great. See you then." She jotted down another note before hanging up. "Can I help you?" she asked without looking up from the notepad in front of her.

"I have an interview," Jemma told her, eyes checking out the photographs of the intricately decorated cakes along one wall. They were gorgeous, and she was starting to think she might be out of her league. She turned back to the woman at the counter.

"Oh, you're Jenna."

"Jemma. Simmons."

"Right." She waved a hand. "Sorry. It's been a long week. I'll get Jiaying for you." The phone rang again and she groaned. "Sometimes, I wish there were two of me, you know?" She rolled her eyes and picked up the phone with an apologetic grimace. "Thanks for calling Beyond Cakes - treats so good, they're inhuman. This is Alisha. How can I make this your best day ever?"

Jemma bit her lip and moved to get a closer look at one of the photographs. It was in black and white, but the swirling pattern of flowers over the surface of one of the layers of this particular cake looked like it had been done with several different icings and tips. Whomever had decorated it must have spent hours on it with a steady hand. The swirls were perfectly spaced. Not a single petal out of place. She had steady hands, but she wasn't sure she could get perfection. It seemed impossibly good.

"Miss Simmons?"

She spun around to find a blond man standing by the counter while Alisha handled the phone. "Yes."

"Jiaying sent me up front for you. She's putting the finishing touches on a cake for a bridal shower. Lincoln," he said, putting out a hand to shake, then realizing it was covered in flour. He pulled it back with a sheepish shrug. "Sorry, I was working on a batch of 'chocolate charged cupcakes' for an anniversary party. Chocolate with a hint of espresso and -"

Alisha cleared her throat and gave them a pointed look, making Lincoln clam up. He gestured for Jemma to follow him instead. Jemma tried not to be offended that Alisha thought she was going to attempt to steal a recipe from them.

"This building is much larger than I thought," Jemma murmured as he led her through a network of hallways to a room just off the large kitchen, where there was a woman, her hair in a braid just like Alisha, who was placing tiny white pearls made from chocolate at evenly spaced intervals around the edge of a circle of frosting with no help from any kind of measurements.

"Yeah, our space actually goes into the adjoining business. Used to be a little Chinese restaurant, I think?" Lincoln shrugged again. "Jiaying, this is Jemma Simmons, she's here for her interview."

"Yes. Hello." The woman didn't turn to look at her, instead circling the table and placing another pearl in the frosting. "I have to say, I was surprised you applied. You don't have any professional experience in a bakery?"

"Well, no. But I do have extensive experience in the foodservice industry. And I do bake frequently."

"At home," Jiaying interrupted as she began adding the pearls to the other layer of the cake with her uncanny ability to space them just perfectly.

"Yes," Jemma agreed.

"Your home kitchen is nowhere near the same as a commercial kitchen."

"Oh, of course not."

"Lincoln?"

Jemma was startled as Lincoln suddenly appeared at her elbow again.

"Yes?"

"Take Jemma to the kitchen and have her make one of the basics. See how she does."

"Okay."

"That's it," Jemma whispered to him as he walked her into the kitchen next door.

"Jiaying has pretty high standards. She gives you one shot. If you don't make it, you don't make it."

"Oh, I see." Jemma swallowed, and placed her bag on a shelf near the door, taking one of the aprons Lincoln offered her after securing her hair in a knot on the top of her head. "What should I make?"

-o-

"Argh." Jemma threw her bag onto the kitchen counter of her apartment with a hard thwap.

"I take it the interview didn't go well?" Skye's head appeared around the refrigerator door where she had been rummaging for food.

"Does it look like it went well?"

Jemma watched as Skye's eyes widened and her mouth popped open before the other woman attempted to cover her surprise. Jemma had no illusions about her appearance. She had received some interesting looks on the way back home.

"Um," Skye began, clearly trying not to laugh, "tell me you didn't murder someone in a bakery?"

"Ugh. It's not blood," Jemma snapped, gesturing to the splatters all over the front of her blouse. "This is a mixture of raspberry compote and chocolate frosting, which somehow exploded all over me during my test."

"Test?"

"This place was so… prestigious. You have to make one of their  _basic_  recipes to even be considered for a real interview, and this is what happened!" Jemma brought her hands up to her neck and toyed with the color of her shirt, only to find more sticky residue there. She groaned.

"Raspberry compote doesn't sound basic?"

"It's not!" Jemma dropped her hands to her sides. "But I've made it before, no problems whatsoever. I have no idea what happened." She braced herself on the counter, then shook her head. "At this rate, I'll never get out of the bar."

"I would offer you a drink to make you feel better, but Trip and I finished off the last of the beer Fitz gave us yesterday…" Skye paused in thought, her eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly. Her forehead relaxed, but her jaw tightened before she smiled. Jemma called the expression on her face the Skye-has-a-plan-but-doesn't-want-you-to-know-it look. At least, that's what she called it in her own mind. Skye didn't frequently use it on anyone else. "You know what, you should shower, and then we  _will_ go out for drinks. I think you could use a night to unwind."

"Skye…"

"Seriously, Jemma. You look like you're about to snap. Go. We'll have some fun."

-o-

Less than an hour later, Jemma was walking along the sidewalk with Skye down a familiar street in a dark red dress. It used to be her date night dress. She couldn't remember the last time that she had been on a date, and Skye had insisted she get some use out of it if she was going to be waiting around until her time at the bar was done before getting down to the business of seducing Fitz.

"I'm not going to seduce him," Jemma protested with a laugh as they walked. Amazingly, just wearing the dress had put her in a better mood.

"True. I've seen the way he looks at you. Seduction isn't even necessary at this point. He's basically a done deal."

"Skye-"

"I have eyes Jemma." Skye paused as they turned a corner. "So do all the people you work with, by the way. I don't think anyone would have a problem if you and Fitz did-"

"That is out of the question," Jemma cut in firmly. "I am not someone who dates my boss. I don't want there to be any… complications."

"Riiiight." Skye smiled as they walked up to her new favorite bar. "And yet, you knew exactly where I was walking you and didn't protest?"

"Fitz isn't supposed to be in tonight," Jemma responded primly. One hand smoothed down her skirt and the other ran through her hair as she spoke, just in case.

"Oh, he's not?" Skye asked in an exaggerated tone of complete and utter innocence. "Damn. I was hoping I'd get to watch him drool over that dress."

"You have an unhealthy obsession with my personal life."

"Because we live together." Skye pulled the door open for her and moved to the side to let Jemma walk in first. "And I know I teased you about the way he looks at you, but I haven't seen you look at someone that way in - well - I don't think ever."

Jemma decided not to respond to that.

She couldn't help it if, over the course of the last few weeks, she had discovered that Fitz was the kind of guy who took monthly trips to the zoo just to see how the monkeys were doing, that he was an incredibly sore loser when it came to trivia night at the bar, that he sang while he was loading crates into the stockroom, that he could juggle shot glasses while Lance threw maraschino cherries at him to catch, that he stocked pretzels for the tables mainly so he could eat them while he was working, and that when he got especially irritated, he would scoff and turn his nose up before clenching his fists and forcing himself to calm down.

She also couldn't help it if, for some reason, she found all of those things incredibly attractive.

She led Skye up to the bar, where she settled down on the bar stool next to Nick.

He gave a low whistle after turning to her.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't the lady in red."

"How are you, Nick?"

"Same old, same old."

"Have you met my friend Skye?" Jemma gestured to the barstool on her other side, but Skye hadn't made it there yet, having paused to speak to Donnie in the middle of the room.

"The one with the computer? Yeah, she's a firecracker, that one. Likes to harass the bartender when he's flirtin' with the college girls. I like her."

Jemma laughed before taking a look around to find a bartender herself. "Well, I don't work for two days, and there's not a bartender in sight," she teased Nick. "What's a girl have to do to get a drink around here?"

"I can make ye a list," a low voice answered from just behind her.

Jemma clamped her mouth shut as her heart jumped in her chest and swiveled her head to find Fitz standing directly behind her, hands hugging a tray to his middle and a smirk on his face.

"You should do that," she told him without considering how it sounded. She couldn't help but want to know what would be on this list of his.

Nick cleared his throat, and Fitz ducked his head, pink creeping across his skin, before moving to the other side of the bar.

"Erm." Jemma cleared her throat as well. "I thought Hunter was managing the place tonight?" She asked as Fitz reappeared in front of her.

"He was. Or he is." Fitz sighed and shook his head. "One of the new girls didn't work out."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Kara." Fitz shrugged. "She didn't give me a reason, jus' said she didn't feel like this was the righ' place for 'er." While he spoke, he spun a glass over the back of one hand before tossing it and catching it with the other.

Jemma smiled as he set it on the bartop, then did the same with a few bottles as he made her a drink. She didn't often see him behind the bar, but it had become one of her favorite things about working here - his ability to put on a show while seeming like he didn't even realize he was doing it. He was just having fun.

When he set the glass down in front of her, she reached into her handbag, but he waved her off.

"You know you don't have ta pay as long as long as you're workin' here."

"Right." Jemma nodded before taking a sip. She had absolutely no idea what he made her beyond the fact that he had picked up on her liking vodka and that it made up the alcoholic part of the beverage. "Thank you."

"Any time."

Jemma sucked her lower lip into her mouth and played with the stirrer Fitz had placed in her glass as he walked to the other end of the bar to check on an actual customer. She gave a small sigh as he laughed at something they said.

Nick gave a slight cough next to her, and Jemma turned back to face him with an apologetic smile on her face.

"You got a night out on the town planned?" He nodded to her dress.

"No, Skye insisted I wear it. Thought it would make me feel better after the day I had."

He raised a single eyebrow, but Skye plopped down next to Jemma, loudly exclaiming, "What's a girl gotta do to get some alcohol around here?"

It was loud enough that Fitz could hear her easily from the other end of the bar, and he strolled back to their end with mock glare at Skye.

"Apparently, there's a list," Nick deadpanned, making Fitz and Jemma both turn a darker shade of pink.

"Oh, really?" Skye blinked as she leaned on the bar and and glanced back and forth between them before winking at Nick. "And what on this list did you do to get  _your_  drink?" She nudged Jemma with her elbow.

Fitz opened his mouth, but no retort followed, so Jemma smiled enigmatically and reminded her roommate, "I work here."

"Fine, Jemma. Take all the fun out of it." She reached forward and grabbed Jemma's drink to take a sip before nodding her head. "I don't know what the hell this is, but I'll take five."

"You drink five o' those an' we'll be peelin' ya off the floor," Fitz teased her, but he started making her one all the same, complete with a spinning bottle or two and a tossed behind his back glass.

"Show off," Skye joked, but she smiled when she sipped from her drink. "How late you working tonight, Fitzy? I was thinking about taking Jemma out for a girls' night, but I could be persuaded to let you join us if I don't have to pay for drinks."

Fitz rolled his eyes. "I had a feelin' you weren't going ta pay me anyway."

"I should have made friends with a bartender years ago," Skye remarked. Nick raised his glass in a mock toast.

Jemma tucked her hair behind her ear and cleared her throat. "I don't know that I'll be able to make it in for work tomorrow if we go out with Fitz after the bar shuts down at two."

Skye gave a dramatic sigh. "Guess we'll just have to hang out here then."

"No," Fitz said slowly, his eyes on Jemma. "You probably don't wan' ta spend your night off hangin' around work."

"I don't mind." Jemma placed both hands on the bar top in front of her. "It's not as crowded tonight. Nice place to have a few drinks. Honestly, I'm surprised we never came across it before, you know…"

Fitz nodded with another grin. "All right. Let me know if ye need anythin' else, yeah? I have ta-" He gestured to a customer who had walked up to the other end of the bar. "I'll come back."

Jemma nodded with him, pressing her hands more firmly into the bar top as he walked away.

-o-

"Red is a good color on you," Callie commented when she popped behind the bar later that evening. "You should wear more color when you work. You always wear black."

"Thank you." Jemma sat up straighter on her stool at the compliment and drained the rest of her drink. "I will take that under consideration," Jemma told her with a laugh.

Fitz was quickly in front of her, almost as though he had been watching to see when she finished her drink. "Want another?"

"Fitz?" Callie interrupted from where her body was now half into the small cooler behind him.

"Yep?"

"Do we have anymore bottles of the Blood Orange Cream Ale?" Callie pushed bottles out of the way on one of the shelves. "There's nothing in here. And I've got a table that wants a round of bottles, not the tap."

"Ugh." Fitz shook his head. "Heathens. They don't know wha' they're missin'. But yeah. I've got a couple of crates in the walk-in. I'll grab 'em."

Jemma shot up from the barstool. "I'll help."

"It's all right, Jemma. It's your night off." Fitz shrugged, but Jemma moved behind the bar to the walkway that lead to the refrigerated room.

"And you're short staffed. And it's faster for each of us to grab a crate instead of you going back and forth for two. This way, you don't have to pull Lance from his tables." She walked through the entrance without waiting for him

"Ooh, is that the citrusy one? I want one of those next!" Skye called.

"I'll get you one from the tap," Callie told her. "Fitz is right. It's better."

Jemma kept going until she got to the heavy metal door that kept the cool air of the giant refrigerator inside. Reaching for the handle, Jemma gave the door a hard pull to get it away from the seal.

"Seriously, Jemma. You didn' have ta," Fitz started.

Jemma laughed, cutting him off. "I know, Fitz." She flinched as the cold air hit her and pushed the plastic insulation flaps out of her way. "You don't have to keep saying that. If you don't want my help… well, I can always go back to the bar." She looked over her shoulder and waited for him to walk through the flaps behind her before dropping them.

"No!" He looked sheepish at his exclamation. "I jus' don't want you ta feel like you have ta work on your night off."

She took a step to the side as the door closed behind him, the entrance to the refrigerated room not leaving them much space to move around. The area just beyond the door was the most narrow point, but she didn't walk further in where the room opened up to the wider shelving. She was certain the more recent additions from Fitz's own brewery were near the front, and she didn't feel like taking the few steps that would increase the distance between them.

"Doesn't feel like work," she admitted quietly, her eyes moving up from the grey floor to look at his face.

Fitz watched her for a moment as she gave him a shy smile. He chewed on his upper lip and shifted his weight forward, making Jemma inhale sharply and lean forward as well. The phrase  _just one more week, Jemma_ , floated through her head, and she forced herself to settle back on her heels, even as her gaze dropped to his mouth. It was entirely possible that walking with Fitz into a dark room wasn't the best call on her part. She cleared her throat. "Seems like the blood orange is a hit," she told him softly, grappling for something to say so she didn't keep staring at his bright blue eyes or the mouth that he was inadvertently drawing her attention to with the way his teeth kept worrying his lip. He licked his lips before responding to her, and she realized she was unconsciously mimicking his movements, the tip of her tongue flicking out to the corner of her mouth.

 _Focus, Jemma._ She blinked.

"Yeah." He seemed bashful as he explained. "Wasn't so sure about it at first. Didn't know if people would like the combination." He shrugged. "Lance is usually my taste tester, but he'll drink jus' about anythin' if it's called beer."

"Not much of a beer drinker myself, but I like it. It's a little sweet." She found herself being pulled toward him like a magnet as she spoke. "I think everyone needs a little sweetness."

"Yeah." Fitz nodded, teeth pulling on his lip again before he leaned forward, but he stopped just short of Jemma, his jaw dropping, as the door to the room opened behind her, light spilling through the clear plastic.

Jemma jumped back, but there wasn't far to go, her shoulders colliding with the edge of the shelf behind her, the clanging of glass bottles and metal shelving echoing loudly, just as Donnie poked his head through the plastic flaps. He halted when he saw the two of them standing there, one hand poised to grab a crate of cider bottles that were just by Jemma's knee.

"Uh… sorry?"

Jemma barked out a laugh and looked down at the floor as she shook her head, her hands coming up to clutch at her neck until Donnie left with his cider.

She turned to look at the shelf next to her. "So, where are these crates?" She rubbed her hands together, though she found she didn't particularly mind the chill.

"Erm. Right." Fitz gave a slight cough and his arm shot out to point over her head. "Top shelf here." He reached above her and pulled down one, handing it over to her, before grabbing the second for himself. Jemma backed into the door, using her weight to push it open as he added, "You - erm - you do look very nice tonight. In case I didn't say. Not tha' you don't always. Jus' tha' red is a nice color - the dress - it's nice."

"It's my date night dress," she told him matter-of-factly as she pushed herself through the plastic and out into the hall. She stood in place against the door until he emerged from the cooler as well.

"Date night?"

The expression on his face, clearly trying to hide his confusion and disappointment, meant to simply feign a polite interest, had her scrambling to correct her mistake.

"Usually the _first date_  dress. It gives me good luck." That didn't seem to help. "Not that I was planning on going out to pick someone up or something like that," she hurriedly explained. "It's just that I didn't have the best afternoon and Skye has this theory that just putting on your favorite outfit can make you feel better."

"So the dress is your favorite?"

They walked back toward the bar together, side by side in the little hallway, elbows and hips bumping every so often.

"No, actually, my favorite outfit consists of Doctor Who pajama bottoms and an old t-shirt." She scrunched her nose up. "I probably shouldn't have admitted that."

Fitz chuckled. "Are they the ones tha' look like the TARDIS? With the police call box logo on your - erm - thigh?"

Jemma shot him a look of surprise. "How would you know that?"

"I have the same ones." It was his turn to scrunch his face up before looking up at the ceiling in mortification. "Not the ones for women. They're for men. Obviously. I mean, not tha' men can't wear women's pajamas if they want to. I jus' mean-"

"It's okay, Fitz. I understand." Jemma laughed. "So, when we're not working, we match!" She gave him a wide grin that he echoed as they walked behind the bar to the cooler. "I can't believe Doctor Who hasn't come up in the whole time that I've been working here." Jemma paused so Callie could unload a few of the bottles from her crate before she set it down.

"The whole three weeks," Callie teased her as started popping the tops off the bottles.

"Oh, hush," Jemma admonished, opening the cooler and starting to add the bottles to the shelves one at a time.

"Jemma," Callie told her seriously, putting her hands on both of the other woman's shoulders, "I have some bad news for you."

"What?" Jemma froze, one bottle in her hand, her leg holding the door to the cooler open.

"You are off the freaking clock! Put the bottle down."

"Right." Jemma set the bottle inside the cooler on the shelf and nodded her head. "Right. Okay. Sorry." She felt herself turning red all over again while Skye laughed from her barstool.

"It's okay," Callie teased as Lance came up and grabbed a few of the bottles for one of his tables, "we all know you  _love_  working here." She winked at her before tilting her head slightly in Fitz's direction before walking away.

If it was possible, Jemma flushed further as she moved back to her seat, even if she had absolutely no reason to be embarrassed. That head tilt could have been entirely coincidental. She had been very careful. She was not doing anything that would jeapordize her work. She tried to will the blood rushing to her face to calm down.

Surprisingly, it was Nick who saved her from the embarrassment by pointing his finger at Lance. "Why are you unbuttoned? Nobody wants to see all o' that."

Lance glanced down at the shirt he was wearing, and indeed, the top half of the buttons were undone, showing more of his chest than was expected. "Bloody hen party at the back. Donnie wouldn't wait on them after what happened with the last one. I see why now. They're handsy when they're drunk."

"We don't pay you to strip," Nick informed him with a pointed look before sipping from his drink.

"Tell them that," Lance called over his shoulder as he went back to his tables.

" _We_ don't pay you?' Jemma echoed in surprise.

Nick nodded his head, while Jemma stared at him. He sighed before explaining, "I own 30% of this place. Was an investor when Fitz's uncle opened it 25 years ago."

"Fitz's uncle," she repeated, looking over at Fitz who was now steadfastly looking in the opposite direction while he added the beer bottles to the cooler.

"Guess your boss didn't tell you any of this?" Nick calmly sipped from his drink, his eyes on Fitz's back.

Jemma didn't know whether to look at Fitz or Nick while he spoke, so she turned just enough to enable her eyes to dart back and forth without making it obvious. "No. He didn't." She was trying to decide if it changed anything about her current situation, but she was pretty sure it didn't. "He did mention that you've invested in a few businesses."

Nick made a disbelieving sound in the back of his throat and leaned forward on the bar. "I invested in the businesses of a few friends after I sold the apartment building my father owned. I am not someone who wheels and deals. Just had the extra cash."

"Oh?" Jemma watched as Fitz's back tensed in front of her and he moved a now empty crate out of the way.

"Yeah… there's Mama May's, a bakery up the block. She gives me free cookies whenever I come in, and it's been 20 years. And Lola's, a diner downtown. Phil makes a mean steak and potatoes. I have dinner there every Tuesday night."

"I've been there," Skye chimed in. "Best burgers I've ever had. And we love Mama May's, don't we, Jemma?"

"Yes. We do." She was still watching Fitz. She couldn't understand why he seemed so tense all of a sudden.

"When Fitz inherited the place from his uncle two years ago, I offered to sell him my share. Hell, I offer to sell it to him every few months, but he won't hear of it. I think he just likes giving me my profit sharing check at the end of the year."

Fitz gave a long suffering sigh as he shoved a few more bottles onto the shelf from the next crate. The beers clinked and clanked as he moved them roughly inside. Nick chuckled, seemingly not bothered by how uncomfortable he was making Fitz.

"Yeah, I bet this place makes a pretty penny," Skye chimed in.

Nick nodded. "Fitz does well with it. That's why he's expanding."

"Expanding?" Jemma and Skye asked in unison.

"You didn't really think that building across the street was abandoned, did you?"

"Nick…" Fitz groaned.

"It's not?" Jemma was well and truly confused now. She could have sworn it wasn't being used. That's why Fitz like to paint on it, right?

"Where do you think Fitz makes the house brews?"

"Nick, it's not a done deal yet. You're goin' ta jinx me."

Nick waved off his concern and went on to recount to Skye and Jemma Fitz's plan to renovate his little brewery into a space that would allow for tours of the back room and samples of the products in development, his own artwork on the walls in the front, and a small restaurant downstairs. By the end of the story, Fitz was leaning on the bar, his eyes downcast.

"But Fitz, that's amazing," Jemma burst out when Nick stopped speaking and began sipping his drink again.

"Yeah… well, like I said, 's not a done deal yet. There're a lot o' permits and paperwork to get through." Fitz rubbed the back of his neck. "And i' means hirin' on more staff. Mack'll be movin' over there when it's up and runnin'. He's actually been helpin' with the renovations. He an' his friend Mike. I don' have ta get a whole crew in there tha' way. An' Donnie, you know he's going ta school for chemical engineerin'? I'm thinkin' about offerin' him a job over there too."

"I think it's brilliant, Fitz." Jemma beamed at him. "It sounds fantastic."

"Yeah?" He was grinning now, he's shoulders dropping into their normal position.

"But, uh," Skye cut in, "did I hear Nick right? You're going to be putting in a restaurant?"

"Yeah. Just somethin' small." Fitz played with the edge of the towel in front of him, swiping it along the edge of the wood, even though there was nothing there to clean up. "We've never served food here, jus' leave the pretzels out. But if we set up for tours during the day, a small pub for lunch seemed like a good idea." He shrugged and Jemma felt Skye's eyes boring into the side of her head.

"Well," Jemma offered, "you should probably serve up some traditional fare." She stifled a giggle as their first conversation came back to her. "But no haggis. Americans don't particularly like it. Maybe fish and chips? A cottage pie?"

Fitz laughed. "No haggis. Got it."

Jemma turned her attention to Skye as her roommate poked her hard in the leg. "What's that thing you make? You know, it's like a hot pocket, but super British?" Skye gave Jemma a hard look, as if trying to communicate something to her, but she wasn't entirely sure what.

"You mean the Cornish pasties? Oh, yes, that's a good option too." Jemma nodded enthusiastically.

Skye sighed as Fitz nodded his head, but then moved away to take an order from someone at the end of the bar. "Jemma," she hissed, "he's going to need someone to run that restaurant. You would be perfect! You've got kitchen experience, you work well together, you can make all those British things…"

"Skye." Jemma let out her own sigh. "You know I can't keep working  _for_  Fitz."

"Well," Nick remarked casually as he stood from his stool, his empty glass dropping back onto the bar with a thunk, "if you were interested in it, you wouldn't actually be working for Fitz."

"What?" Jemma spun so fast on the bar stool, Skye had to steady her to make sure she didn't fall off, and she was almost entirely certain that Nick was smirking at her, but she didn't care. "Please, explain." Those were the only words she could form, and she wasn't entirely sure she was even going to hear his response over the blood pounding in her ears.

"Fitz isn't going to start work on the restaurant itself until the full brewery is up and running in the back. But, I told him it's going to save him some funds if he rents out the restaurant space to a small business owner instead." Nick reached into his back pocket and found his wallet, leaving some cash on the bar, even though he'd probably already paid for his drink. Jemma considered that a large part of the profit margin for the bar was probably just Nick giving money back to himself. "I told him he should give back, take a chance on a new menu instead of renting out to one of those chains. He'll probably start accepting menu proposals in, oh, something like six months. He mentioned too that with as busy as the bar and the brewery will keep him, he might let me deal with more of the restaurant details."

"Six months?" Jemma held her breath for a moment, mentally calculating if it would even be possible for her to gather that much cash in that amount of time. It would be tight. Very tight. But given that she and Skye had been drinking for free for the last three weeks, she hadn't dipped too far into her savings before she started working there and she hadn't been dating or doing much of anything beyond working and watching Netflix and she'd already started saving up her money from tips. Maybe… just maybe, she could do it. "Nick," she pressed as he had already started heading for the door.

He turned back to her, waiting, with his eyebrows raised in an unspoken question.

Jemma sat very still on the barstool, not sure what else she wanted to say to him. "Thank you. For telling me." She dipped her chin when he nodded at her before turning back around and bracing her elbows on the bar. Jemma propped her head up with her hand, lost in thought, until she turned to Skye with a smile.

"Oh, I like that face," Skye whispered. "Does this mean we have a plan and that you're finally going to stop mooning over Fitz?"

"You like it when I cook, right?"

"Oh, God. I'm going to have to taste everything for this menu proposal, aren't I? We're going to be eating nothing but British food for the next six months." Skye groaned.

-o-


	6. Chapter 6

Jemma hastily wiped her hands on her towel and ran to the door, wrenching it open without looking to see who it was. "Trip!" She opened the door wider and ushered him inside. "And you brought friends," she added warmly.

"Is that okay?" Trip asked. "Skye said you wanted a few more opinions."

"Perfect!" Jemma lead them inside. "I love you both, but you and Skye are not a large enough group. I need a bigger sample size to get an accurate assessment of my abilities. Skye just loves eating my food because it means she doesn't have to cook."

"This is Idaho and Anne," Trip told her, gesturing behind him as he followed her into the kitchen. "They're both at my firehouse, thought they could use something other than Indian takeout. The Chief has been on a curry kick lately."

"Excellent." Jemma stood next to the counter and raised her arm with a flourish to highlight the dozen dishes taking up residence there. "I've got an entire menu sampling here. It's still in progress, so I want honest opinions. Help yourselves. I've got to go change."

Skye traipsed into the kitchen as she left and explained loudly, "Sorry that my roommate is feeding you and running. I swear Jemma is usually more sociable than this. She's got a date she's been waiting on for over a month. I don't know how she handled over four weeks of foreplay."

"Must be a hell of a guy," Idaho remarked as he examined the dishes.

"He is!" Jemma called to them.

"Are these comment cards?" Anne asked.

Skye laughed, and Jemma tuned them out as she pulled a dress from her closet.

-o-

Jemma swiped a hand down over her waist as she stood outside the door to the bar, making sure the fabric had no wrinkles. With so many job interviews over the last month, it had become something of a nervous habit. Fitz had offered to pick her up, but with a group of people in her apartment taking part in a British themed feast, she didn't want him there. She didn't need him to know that she was going to "try out," as Nick had put it, for a shot at running his restaurant. If he knew ahead of time, she'd never be sure that he wasn't just giving her the chance because of what was going on between them… whatever that was. She supposed she'd know for sure tonight.

Jemma Simmons was nothing if not determined. And she wanted this. Badly. But she wanted it on her own terms. And she also wanted to be with Fitz. She was confident she could keep those two parts of her life separate, for the time being anyway.

She swallowed, wondering if meeting him at the bar was a bad idea. Maybe they should have met somewhere else. Somewhere without Callie and Lance and Donnie. Neutral ground? Maybe they should have done something simple. Like go for coffee. Or tea. She didn't drink coffee. Did Fitz drink coffee? Coffee was a bad idea anyway. Because her nerves were on edge, mind running a mile a minute, and she had no idea what it was they were going to be doing for their date. She glanced down at her dress. Maybe she should have asked?

A pair of women came through the door, holding it open for her, and she looked back up, smiling her thanks, forcing her nerves from her mind, even if the edges of her lips were trembling. Stepping inside the doorway, Jemma held herself very still, eyes the only part of her making any movement as she looked beyond the customers at their tables, Lance at the bar, Callie and Izzy winding their way through the half-filled tables, and Donnie emerging with a crate of bottles from the back room. But no Fitz.

Callie spotted her before she could slink off to a corner to keep an eye out for him.

"Jemma!" Callie skipped up to her, throwing an arm around her shoulders. "I thought your last day was Wednesday?"

"It was." She balled her hands into fists at her sides, fighting the urge to pick at the material of her dress.

"So…" Callie nudged Jemma playfully and raised her eyebrows. "What are you doing here?"

"Erm." Jemma hesitated as Callie removed her arm from around her, fingernails biting into her palms. "Is, uh, is Fitz around?" She forced one of her hands to relax so she could tuck her hair behind her ear.

"Ah." Callie nodded her head. "He's in his office." She smiled mischievously. "So, you're the appointment that he couldn't miss tonight." Jemma didn't respond, but instead began to make her way across the bar. "About damn time," Callie muttered.

When Jemma reached his office, she knocked on the edge of the open door, watching as he sprang up from his desk. He'd obviously been pulling at his hair while he went through the paperwork in front of him; it was sticking up at odd angles and he tried to flatten it with one hand as he ran around the desk.

"Jemma, 'm sorry. I was working on-"

"It's fine," she rushed to reassure him. "I was early. And I just -" She shrugged. "I wanted to see you." Her smile shook just a bit again. It was hitting her that she was actually about to go on a date with Fitz - Fitz the slightly awkward dork who spouted off random science fiction film facts at the drop of a hat and the equally cool artist who found a little girl's theft of a tea tin amusing. She took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. He was staring at her dress. It wasn't anything like the ones she'd worn to work the last few weeks - simple, black, conservative. "If you need more time, I can always wait though."

Fitz shook his head quickly. "Nope. I'm ready." His eyes wide, he moved his gaze to meet hers, seemingly unable to stop smiling.

"Oh. Good." Jemma nodded and turned back to the door, her hands curling and uncurling at her sides as she tried to figure out what to do with them. Fitz, seemingly with no problem figuring out what to do with his hands, placed one on the small of her back and led her through the door from his office before he locked it, then turned her in a different direction down the hall.

"You're not wearin' your firs' date dress."

"No," Jemma agreed, unsure how to phrase her response. "I suppose… I didn't think I needed the luck."

"Ohhhh." Fitz gave an exaggerated nod of his head next to her. "You're tha' confident it's goin' to go well," he teased. "Maybe you should've gone with the Doctor Who pajamas." His eyes widened as soon as he said it and he stopped at the end of the hall. "No. I didn't - pretend I didn't say tha'."

"I don't think I can," Jemma said with a perfectly straight face before giggling at his stricken one.

"Ha. Yeah. Okay." He unlocked the door at the end of the hall, and opened it to reveal a back set of stairs. "I thought ye might wan' to avoid Lance and his, uh,  _helpful_  advice for tonight."

"That was a good thought," Jemma agreed, stepping through the doorway and down the steps to the alley below.

She was surprised when Fitz took her hand and they began walking, that they didn't go far. In fact, they only made it across the street before they stopped.

"I know you were probably expectin' a fancy restaurant or somethin', but I jus' thought - you were so excited when Nick told you the plans - I thought you might want to see it?" He chewed on the side of his mouth after speaking, his keys nervously jangling in his other hand.

Jemma squeezed the fingers that were held in her own. "I'd love to."

Fitz tried to unlock the door without letting go of Jemma's hand, but when he nearly dropped the keys, Jemma laughed and untangled her fingers from his. He shot her an apologetic smile, but she just went up on the balls of her feet to give him a quick kiss on the cheek before her brain could talk her out of it.

Fitz's grin widened, and he opened the door with a flourish, giving something of a bow as he allowed her to go first.

"Now, it's nowhere near done, obviously, but this is the main entrance." He gestured in the area where they were standing before reaching into a panel by the door and flicking a switch. A hum indicated the electricity of the building coming to life, and the construction spotlights connected with extension cords powered up, giving them a look at the room around them.

Jemma ran her fingers over the top of the counter surface just a few steps away. It was a deep brown, though it was covered in a light dusting of wood shavings and concrete. She listened attentively as Fitz explained where people would check in; she traipsed along after him as he led her through an entryway to the half of the floor that would be taken up by the restaurant; and she leaned against the doorway to the kitchen as he bounced from place to place detailing his plans.

Jemma picked up squares of wood off the nearest metal stand.

"Hardwood floors?"

"Yeah." Fitz rushed back to her side. "I haven't picked a finish yet. But I think-"

"The cherry," Jemma remarked holding it up as he said the same thing. "Matches the bar," Jemma said with a shrug of her shoulders and a smile.

"Yeah. Yes. Exactly." Fitz pointed behind her. "Do you wanna see the kitchen? It's the only part downstairs that's actually finished."

"Of course." Jemma let him take her hand again as he pulled her through the opening.

"There'll be doors there," he explained with a laugh, but his words became something of a pleasant background noise as Jemma looked around at the stainless steel counters, the brand new appliances, the rows of shelving in the back… and the brown paper bags of groceries on the counter. She smiled at the excitement on his face as he spoke, but he completely skipped over the two bags in the middle of the otherwise empty shelving.

"Fitz," she interrupted just as he was pointing out the cold storage. He turned around, mouth open, eyebrows raised. In response, she pointed to the bags of groceries.

"Oh, right." Fitz chuckled. "That's why I was still workin'. I nipped out to get a few things, dropped 'em off just a little while ago… I thought we could try out the equipment."

Jemma practically danced over to the bags to see what was in them. She lifted out a packet of brown paper wrapped with twine, like it had actually come from a butcher instead of one of those chain grocers, with a raised eyebrow. "What are you making me?"

"Me?" Fitz squeaked. "I am excellent a' puttin' together alcohol, but food…" He trailed off and shrugged sheepishly.

"Such a Scotsman," Jemma joked, but she kept untying the package to find strips of sirloin. She reached into the bag and emerged with thick bread, a few vegetables, and a slew of other things that she laid out methodically on the counter. "If you don't cook," she teased, holding up a small jar of seasoning blend, "how did you know what to get?"

"I may have asked the butcher's advice," Fitz grinned.

"Smart." Jemma smiled too, forgetting that this was supposed to be a first date and she should probably still be nervous. Something about being in a kitchen with Fitz put her completely at ease. "Do we have anything to cook with?"

Fitz raised one finger before running around behind her to grab a box from the top shelf of one of the platforms that pulled out from the wall. He brandished the spatula inside like a fly swatter and Jemma fought the urge to laugh.

"Wha'?"

She pursed her lips together. "Hmm?"

"Tha' look. What is tha' for?"

"Nothing." Jemma shook her head, walking up to him and removing the spatula from his grip, leaning into him just enough to tease him and watch his chest rise as he sucked in a quick breath at her proximity. With another smile, she asked "Why don't you cut the vegetables?"

Less than an hour later they were both perched on one of the stainless steel countertops eating their food, legs dangling off the side, and Jemma was itching to ask if Fitz had anybody in mind for the restaurant, but she kept her mouth firmly shut. Or, more accurately, she kept her mouth occupied with her food and talking about relatively safe topics, like some of the new beers he was developing, the latest episode of  _Doctor Who_ , whether  _Star Trek_  or  _Star Wars_  was a more accurate depiction of the future, and the fact that Fitz was dreading hiring on more people when he finally opened the brewery to the public.

"You'll be fine, Fitz." She set the plastic cutlery and paper plate she'd been using aside. "You hired me, so you must be a fantastic judge of character."

"Yeah… well, that's different." Fitz kept his eyes down as he swept their trash into one of the grocery bags and set it inside the box with the cookwear he was taking home to clean. "Kind o' wish I could keep working with ya. You're a lot easier than some o' the other idiots that come in lookin' for work." Jemma gave him an expression of mock outrage when he glanced up at her, and his face transformed into one of panic as he realized what he said. "You're not easy. Tha' isn't wha' I meant. I'm sorry." He covered his face with one hand, the other balled into a fist on his knee.

Jemma only hesitated a moment before she reached out, placing her hand over his fist and prying his fingers apart, linking their hands together. "It's okay, Fitz. I know exactly what you mean. It is easy with you."

"Yeah?" He slowly lowered his other fingers from his face.

"Yeah." She tugged on his hand until he moved closer to her, then closed the gap between them herself with a kiss.

-o-

It was a few hours before she finally unlocked the door to her apartment and shuffled inside, still smiling from the date she'd been waiting so long for.

"So?" Skye's head popped up from the couch. "How was it?"

"Lovely."

Jemma dropped her handbag and walked into the kitchen, finding the cards for each of the dishes she'd made left sitting there with a few words on each of them.

"Lovely? That's all I get?"

"Wonderful."

"Jemma…" Skye whined.

Jemma sighed and pretended to ignore Skye while she read, deciding to nix the lamb. That was probably too upscale for pub food anyway. She was definitely keeping her fish and chips. And the cottage pie. Everyone loved that one. She knew for a fact Fitz liked it already too.

"Perfect," she whispered, not entirely referring to the card in her hand.

"Jemma, at least tell me what you guys did."

"We had dinner. We cooked dinner."

"You cooked? Did he take you back to his place on the first date? Jemma!" Skye bounded off the couch and grabbed her arm, turning Jemma around to face her.

"No, he showed me around the brewery." Jemma stacked the cards back up and neatly placed them on the counter. "The equipment is all there."

"Mmm. Did he show you  _all_  of his equipment?"

"Skye!" Jemma laughed.

"I'm just kidding… no, I'm not." Skye shook her head. "But, look at you, getting the inside scoop on your future restaurant. Very clever."

Jemma rolled her eyes and listened as Skye continued to pester her for details about her night. When she couldn't take it anymore, she finally told her roommate, "I'm going to have a shower. Goodnight."

"Yeah, right. You must have worked up quite a sweat in the kitchen." Skye winked.

Jemma fought down a smile as she walked by her. "Not in the kitchen, no. But I did make sure Fitz showed me his new office."

-o-

"Jemma, I cannot eat another bite, okay? Please, don't force feed me anymore steak pie."

Jemma stepped back primly and leaned against the refrigerator, placing the pie plate down on the counter. Bobbi laughed at the apologetic expression on her face.

"Seriously, it's good." Bobbi took a sip from the glass of water in front of her. "I think I like the cottage pie better though."

"So, you don't think I should include the steak pie, then?" Jemma pressed forward and shuffled through her lists of possible menu items.

"I think… look, it's great English pub food, it is. But I think it needs a vegetable? At least cottage pie has some vegetables in it?"

"Yes, that was my thought as well. It's a heavy meat item. Some places serve it with root vegetables and cauliflower, but I've found Americans are not overly fond of cauliflower." Jemma pursed her lips and set a finger to her chin, flipping through her notes again. "Obviously there will be a chopped salad and a Ploughman's lunch for lighter options. I'm thinking maybe a chicken salad wrap or something like that - very American, but there need to be a few familiar options. And- "

Bobbi cut her off with a wave and the clearing of her throat as she stood. "I'm sorry, Jemma, but I've got a speed dating round tonight. And you've still got a couple more months. Maybe lay off the heavy stuff and work on desserts for a while? You can test out desserts on Fitz too without him getting suspicious. I have a feeling he has a thing for the sweet stuff."

"Yes. That's an excellent plan." Jemma smiled brightly and walked Bobbi to the door. "And please," she added as she unlocked it.

"I know. I won't say anything to Fitz about you wanting to be the one running his new restaurant," Bobbi intoned. She had the phrase memorized at this point, and she rolled her eyes as she walked out, then muttered just under her breath, "though I'm pretty sure he'd let you run just about anything."

It was Jemma's turn to roll her eyes. Everyone seemed to think that she should just ask Fitz about the restaurant, but that didn't seem fair to her. What if someone out there had a better plan for his pub? What if someone out there was better at making the pub food than she was? The person who got the job should be the best. Jemma wanted to be the best. She wrapped up the leftovers of the steak pie, the cottage pie, and the stewed chicken. She'd send it back to the firehouse with Trip tonight. The rest of the station had taken up a collection for her in a tip jar after she'd begun showering them with food, and she was grateful for that little bit of money back. She was almost entirely certain his station was doing it at Trip's urging since every time he came over he made sure to ask her plenty of questions about her menu plans before he took Skye out anywhere. Jemma had been very careful to not dip into her savings so far, and she'd even sold a couple of family recipes for scones to Mama May's that she knew would never be used in a pub just for the extra cash.

Jemma opened the pantry and surveyed her supplies. What she had left wasn't nearly enough food for the station. She needed to test out a couple more things. Her lips curled into a smile when she remembered Bobbi's suggestion.

_Desserts, it is._

When Trip brought Skye home from their date later that night, Jemma practically pounced on him to present him with the goody bags to take back with him.

"I'm sorry, I know I'm interrupting, but you said you had to go back tonight." She lifted the bags, stuffed to the brim with containers, and smiled sheepishly.

Trip chuckled before kissing Skye on the cheek and taking the bags from Jemma.

"You put comment cards in there? Anne loves the comment cards."

"Yes! You know, she's the only one who provides enough details for me. I need more than just 'Yum!' I made a few adjustments to the cottage pie this time. Beef gravy instead of a simple broth. The steak pie is new. And I just finished a new recipe for apple tarts that I think you'll love. Oh, and there's Irish soda bread - not the sweet kind - to go with the stewed chicken, though I haven't decided if that will fit in with the rest of the menu, and I have two different kinds of Scottish shortbread cookies in there. I played with those too. I know Fitz likes his dipped in chocolate, so I tried one of those. And-" She broke off when Skye started giggling. "What?"

"She's adorable when she's excited, isn't she? I think this is my favorite Jemma." Skye was still holding on to the belt loop of Trip's trousers as she spoke. "Jemma with a goal  _and_  head over heels? Makes excited-Jemma even more excited."

The Jemma in question scoffed. "I'm just going to clean the kitchen. You can snog to your heart's content now."

She hid her smile when Skye let out a dramatic "finally" as she walked away.

-o-

Letting out a sigh, Jemma surveyed the kitchen in front of her. She nodded. Everything was done and ready, and she was flushed with excitement at a plan well executed. She checked the clock above the oven, just as there was a knock on the door.

She gave something of a little hop to give her energy an outlet as she made her way to the apartment entrance and pulled the door open without checking to see who it was. She was only expecting one person tonight.

"You're early," she chirped when Fitz stood there, rocking on his heels, one hand wrapped around the neck of a bottle of wine, the other in his pocket.

"I left Lance in charge," he told her with a smile. "Might regret it tomorrow, but not right now."

She pulled the door open wider and let him into the apartment. She tried not to laugh as Fitz let his eyes roam the entryway before turning back to her. He was still bouncing on his feet, the wine bottle being tapped against his side, trying not to let any nervousness (or maybe it was excitement?) show too much.

"I'm surprised you brought wine," she teased him. "I was almost expecting a sampling of new beers."

"You wouldn't tell me wha' you were makin' for dinner, so I thought I'd play it safe." He turned, half heading in the direction of the kitchen. "Do you wan' me to-"

"I'll get it. Just – erm – have a seat on the sofa." Jemma waved her hand in the direction of the living room for him before she took the wine. She had almost forgotten about the comment cards in a stack on the kitchen counter from Anne or the pages from her yellow legal pad with recipes written out that Skye had put on the fridge with little gold star stickers all over them. Fitz could not, under any circumstances, go in her kitchen if she expected to keep him in the dark.

After drinking the bottle of wine though, Fitz was even more chivalrous than usual, and it was a little harder to keep him from following her into the kitchen to drop their glasses and plates off, so she did what any good girlfriend and future business woman would do, and set the dishes firmly down on the coffee table, grabbed him by the fabric of his tee shirt, and kissed him soundly.

He had to clear his throat when she pulled back. "This was – erm – nice," he managed to squeak out.

"Just nice?" She raised her eyebrows and slid her hands down his chest and around his waist.

"Perfect."

He leaned forward and kissed her again, and they both completely forgot about cleaning anything up until Skye got home and there was a very loud "what the hell?" from the living room.

Fitz sat up sharply in bed, clearly in something of a panic, but Jemma grabbed his arm. "Trust me, Skye doesn't care about the mess," she whispered.

"You didn't save me any wine?" Skye's voice carried to them. "You are horrible friends! I hope the sex was worth it."

"See?" Jemma giggled.

Fitz flopped back onto his back with a sigh.

"It was!" Jemma yelled back, making Fitz throw a pillow over his face with a groan.

-o-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's only one more chapter left after this one guys, and I will definitely have it up for you all within the next week because one week from the day I'm posting this I'm going on something of a vacation. Hope you guys liked this one!


	7. Chapter 7

Jemma cradled her phone between her ear and shoulder as she very carefully assembled another dish and popped the lid on her container.

"Fitz, I would absolutely love to meet you for lunch before you start with the interviews, but I actually have plans with Skye." She cringed at the way her voice went shrill. She was definitely not good at lying to him. Or anyone, really. But especially him. Whenever she had to lie to him, her heart would pound like she was back in high school being picked on and her throat would start to get tight.

 _No more lying after today, Jemma,_ she reminded herself.

She listened as he grumbled about how having Lance as one of the people judging the menu might not be the best option.

"Well," Jemma remarked as she ladled her stew into a smaller container, "no one knows pubs quite like Lance, do they? From what I hear, he's been thrown out of his fair share."

Fitz laughed, and she could almost picture him running a finger over the edge of his desk as he spoke, bouncing his knee even. He was never still. His brain was always running. Well, not always. She had discovered a few ways to make him practically short circuit, but she had a feeling it wouldn't be professional of her to remind him of that right now. It would be cheating, considering he didn't know that she would be seeing him shortly.

"Yeah," he said as his laughter died down. "Maybe we can grab a bite fer dinner?"

Jemma hummed without giving him an answer.

"Nick has five candidates for me ta meet. An' they're all supposed ta bring menu plans and samples, but I'll leave most of the taste testing up ta the others."

Jemma smiled. She had a feeling that would not be the case at all. He could never resist good food. "So, it's Nick, you, and Lance?"

"An' Callie. She volunteered. Thought we needed a female perspective. My aunt, even though her name's on the deed, she might not make i'. She was very cross with me fer schedulin' this on her Bridge day. I told her it wasn't me, i' was Nick, but I think she's a bit sweet on Nick." He laughed again.

Jemma nodded before remembering that he couldn't see her. "Why don't we talk after? See how you're feeling then? You might just want to stay in with a cup of tea or something by then." She arranged her containers into her thermal bag and very carefully zipped it up tight.

"Yeah, tha' sounds good." There was shuffling and the muffled sounds of other people speaking. "Ah, Nick says the firs' one's here. I'll call ye later. Love you."

Jemma froze and the call disconnected before she even responded. She gave a little laugh as she slipped her phone into the pocket of her skirt. Fitz, though he was very affectionate, had never actually said the words. In the last few months, she'd never said them either, even if she felt the same way. It was entirely possible that he didn't realize he said them, but she had the sudden urge to do a little dance in the kitchen. Or run the entire way to the brewery and plant one on him, but well, that wouldn't go over too well with anyone else that was there - not to mention it would jostle all of her dishes. Instead, she took a few deep breaths to calm herself down, double checked her hair and makeup in the hall mirror, even though she knew everyone that was going to be judging her food wasn't really going to be looking at her makeup, grabbed the printed and laminated menu she had designed, slid it into her handbag, and headed out the door.

Walking up to the brewery, which still didn't have a nameplate or a sign anywhere to be seen, she was surprised to find that it looked deserted. She expected to see hopefuls milling around out front, but Nick had already whittled them down before Fitz had to deal with anyone, so she supposed she shouldn't have expected a queue or anything like that.

She blew out a nervous breath before reaching for the lovely gold plated door handle and pulling. Donnie was on the other side of the door and he let out a disbelieving chuckle when she walked in.

"I'm here to apply." Jemma nodded her head at his raised eyebrows.

"Awesome." Donnie glanced down at a list on the clipboard. "Ahh… you're The Copper Monkey. That makes sense." When Jemma looked confused, he explained, "no one else actually came up with a name that complimented the bar." He rolled his eyes. "The first guy, he called his restaurant The Sword and the Scone. I had to ask him if he was going to be selling anything other than pastries and swordfish. He didn't understand why Fitz was concerned."

Jemma tried very hard not to laugh and finally settled on saying, "I guess there's a very specific market for that… somewhere."

"The last guy's in there now," Donnie told her, leading her through the now finished entryway around the back hallway so they could enter the kitchen from the other side and not disturb the interview. "He doesn't sound too bad." He only hesitated a second before telling her, "I've tried your food though when Fitz brought leftovers in for lunch. I don't think you've got any competition."

"Really?"

"Really."

Jemma looked at everything around them as they walked. She'd seen everything at various stages of construction, but she had very purposefully stayed away the last few weeks as the finishing touches were made on the welcome desk and the walls and as Fitz painted. She spotted a mural along one wall that had a bar scene from across the street - complete with Lance scowling behind the bar and Callie accepting a large tip from a customer. She smiled in recognition as the likenesses of several of the regular customers jumped out at her.

"Yeah," Donnie agreed with her unspoken assessment, "Fitz did a great job on the art."

"Has he done anything in the pub yet?"

Donnie shook his head. "Just the basics. The bar's been sanded and stained. The furniture's been picked out and some of it's set up, but he hasn't put anything on the walls yet. I think he was waiting to see what the menu would be like."

Jemma nodded and set her bag down on one of the stainless steel countertops after they pushed their way through a set of doors and into the kitchen.

"And Nick really didn't tell anyone that I was applying?"

"Nah. The old man knows how to keep a secret." Donnie crept to the other end of the kitchen and peeked through the window there. "Fitz looks bored. Callie looks interested though." He rolled his eyes. "Probably just because the guy's attractive."

Jemma didn't say anything, just walked the length of the kitchen, looking at the cabinets that had been put in at one end, the finally finished pantry, the pull out shelving. It was made with the specific idea to make things easier for the staff. Everything was in easy reach or easy to manipulate. She loved it already.

Shaking her hands out at her sides, she returned to her bag and unzipped the top, trying to remember all of the ingredients to all of the dishes she had made, the reasons for including the menu options she had, and the rest of her pitch. Up to this point, she had been so focused on preparing the food that she'd forgotten she'd actually be pitching a restaurant menu that she would then be responsible for cooking and teaching others to cook.  _If_  she got the job.

She took another deep breathe in and forced it out slowly, bracing her hands on the counter top.

"You're not going to pass out on me, are you? Callie did that once before a physics exam. It was terrifying."

"No, I'm okay." She took another breath and straightened up. "I'm okay," she repeated.

"Good, because you're up."

-o-

"Yeah, we'll call you and let you know."

Nick's voice carried all the way from the front of the restaurant where they were set up at a table and chairs to Jemma at the back by the kitchen. Donnie pushed the door open for her and she walked out on slightly wobbling legs. When Fitz broke out into a wide grin at the sight of her though, she felt a strange sense of calm settle over her. She very carefully set her bag down on the table and handed him a copy of her menu and proposal.

"Hello," she said cheerfully as Callie clapped in delight, "my name is Jemma Simmons, and I have a pub menu that combines traditional British fare with American options." She was trying very hard to do the whole thing right as she began explaining her lunch options, the appetizers, and the dinner menu, but Lance cleared his throat to interrupt her. She should have known it would be Lance. "Yes?"

"Cut the crap, Jems. Where's the cottage pie?"

Callie laughed. "And I heard that you did oversized apple tarts. I want one of those."

"I - but." Jemma inhaled sharply. "Donnie said you didn't tell anyone!" She snapped her gaze to Nick accusingly.

"I didn't say a word," he told her solemnly, his eyes on her menu.

"What? But-"

"Jemma," Fitz said gently, "didye really think we wouldn't figure it ou'? You've been cookin' nonstop for months an' you wouldn't let me in your kitchen any time I came over, even though you kept cookin' me lunch."

"You brought in a bloody bakewell tart for Mack's birthday last week and he'd never heard of 'em before," Lance added, now rooting around in Jemma's sample bag on his own while she stood there in shock. "Is this spiced beef?" he asked her, holding up a container of thinly sliced meat that was fogging up the plastic it was stored in. "That takes a full bloody week to make," Lance informed the others. "My mum used to do it for the holidays. Makes the best sandwiches. This," he said as he passed the container off to Fitz, "shows commitment." He nodded his approval before finding the cottage pie. "I'll sample the cottage pie myself. I'm starvin'. The rest of those idiots brought us chicken wings, salads and fish and soggy chips. Just because I'm from England doesn't mean I want bloody fish and chips for every meal." He popped the top off and dug in. "If you don't hire her, I'm vetoin' your ownership privileges," Lance added out of the corner of his mouth.

"Seconded," Callie said as she bit into the apple tart she'd found.

"But. Don't you want to hear about the menu?" Jemma's hands hung at her sides, on the verge of explaining why she'd done the apple tart at all. She was at a loss. She had wanted this to be a real interview. She still wanted to prove she could do this.

"I do," Nick agreed. "What the hell is Welsh rarebit and why is it an appetizer?"

Jemma smiled at him gratefully and began explaining the process of melting down the cheese and serving it over crusted bread or toast.

"It's like fondue. It's delicious," Fitz added before taking a bite of the spiced beef. He closed his eyes while he chewed and swallowed. "God, tha' is good."

"Is it?" Jemma prompted.

He rolled his eyes at her in response. "Jemma," Fitz told her around a mouthful of food, "you know yer a goo' cook."

"Yes," she agreed slowly, watching Callie devour the giant apple tart in three bites while Nick lifted the lid off a container of the equally oversized Scottish shortbread cookies and sniffed. "But am I good enough for this?"

She waved a hand behind her, half turning, only to find Donnie coming in with an older woman in tow. She had her arm linked through his as though he was supporting her walk, but the twinkle in her eye and skip in her step suggested she could make it just fine. Jemma turned back to the table in front of her, eyes wide as she met Fitz's. He hurriedly swallowed down his spiced beef and wiped his hands on a napkin as Nick snapped the container shut and rose from his seat.

"Lorraine," he called, "destroy any of your friends today?"

"I left early," she retorted with a slight lilt to her tone. Jemma wondered how long she'd lived in the States to only have the barest hint of an accent left. She gave Nick a warm hug when she reached him. "I couldn't miss all the fun. You told me I just had to try your last chef."

"Chef?' Jemma whispered, her throat closing up as she shook her head. "Technically, I'm not-" But she stopped speaking when Fitz gave a short shake of his head.

"Lorraine, I though' you weren't-"

She cut him off as she dropped into Nick's seat and eyed Lance with trepidation. He was half way through the cottage pie, completely ignoring her. "I thought I should protect my investment. You've rounded up some help, I see?" The way she said help with a slight wrinkle of her nose suggested she was highly amused by Lance, and Callie, who was no longer in her chair, but perched on the table and pawing through the rest of the contents of the bag. She handed a container of stew and a spoon over to Donnie.

"What?" Callie asked as they all looked at her. "He hasn't been able to try anything, and he's been helping all day!"

Jemma hurriedly explained the stewed chicken and vegetables as Donnie tentatively removed the lid and took a bite.

"Well," Lorraine asked him.

He nodded his head as he swallowed. "It's great. Really great."

"There's a brown bread in the bag as well that will be served with it," Jemma began, but Lorraine was off and running, asking Jemma questions about where she studied - "Actually, I have a degree in chemistry" - her work experience - "I've worked for three different restaurants, as well as a bar and…" - and what her favorite dish on the menu was.

"Oh." Jemma swallowed nervously. "It's actually not one of the meals." She hesitated for only a moment before moving forward and pulling the container of shortbread cookies from where Nick had left them on the table. He was leaning against the wall behind them, watching Lorraine carefully. "I have an old recipe for Scottish shortbread that I amended. I used the basic recipe and added quite a bit more vanilla to it, and I've made the squares a significant bit larger." She popped the top off the container and held it out to Lorraine. "I've got the vanilla squares, then I've also got a chocolate dipped and a caramel topped option. The chocolate dipped pairs very well with - erm - Fitz's Blood Orange Cream Ale and the caramel topped is good for the scotch tasting you were discussing before…" She trailed off as she realized that the scotch tasting might not be something the rest of the applicants had known about, but Lorraine had pulled one of the vanilla from the container before Fitz took it from Jemma's hands. "And I thought they would be a nice option for those touring the brewery as a complimentary parting gift instead of an actual menu item. Of course, customers could order a batch if they liked. And once the logo is finalized, I could have them stamped with a cookie cutter version of it on the bottom, or packaged in a logoed bag or- "

"Hmm." Lorraine licked her lips as she hummed, then chewed thoughtfully. "You're English," she said after she swallowed.

"Yes."

"What was your name?"

"Jemma. Simmons." She held her hand out to shake Lorraine's as the woman reached forward. She had a firm grip, but her smile was warm as they shook.

"Do you have a relative that plays Bridge?"

"Here?" Jemma's eyebrows arched up as Lorraine studied her. "No. I don't have any family here."

"Hmm." Lorraine didn't say anything for a moment, but she took another bite of the cookie. "Your name is very familiar…"

"Would ye like ta try somethin' else?"

Fitz cleared his throat after asking, not meeting anyone's eyes, and Jemma felt something warm settle into the middle of her chest. He had talked about her. To his family. That probably should have occurred to her before now, but they hadn't met one another's family, so she hadn't really considered it much. It was like she was suddenly important, which was ridiculous, but she couldn't be happier about it. She went up on her toes and tensed all the muscles in her legs to stop herself from breaking into too wide of a smile.

"Yes. I have quite a few of my menu selections here," Jemma agreed, going back down onto her feet, unpacking the rest of the bag on the table, feeling much more confident as she began to detail each of the menu options and the samples, unable to stop from smiling the entire rest of the session.

-o-

She couldn't sleep. It was nearly half past three in the morning, and she still couldn't sleep. She rolled to one side and pulled the blanket over her head to block out the streetlight outside, then groaned when that didn't make her feel any less restless. Instead of shutting her eyes and snuggling deeper into the blankets in an effort to lull herself to good dreams, Jemma flopped onto her back and threw away the covers. With a sigh, she forced herself up and off the bed, out of the bedroom, and into the kitchen.

The very messy kitchen with takeout containers thrown over just about every available surface, a pile of dishes in the sink, and a stack of unopened mail next to the fridge.

With another sigh, Jemm flipped the light switch and started cleaning. If she couldn't sleep, she might as well tidy up. This is why she hadn't gone into the kitchen when she came in, just straight to bed. But if she couldn't sleep…

She had managed to get all the containers in a trash bag, all the junk mail torn to pieces and disposed of, and had just finished washing the dishes when a key turned in the lock. She used the sponge in her hand to wipe down the section of the counter before tossing it in the sink as she heard the door click open, hinges moving as it was pushed from its frame.

"Jemma?"

She turned around and tried to act as if she hadn't been up tossing and turning for hours as the door was closed and locked.

"Hi, Fitz!" She told him brightly, succeeding in suppressing a yawn. "How was work?"

He paused in the doorway to the kitchen. "Did ye clean m'kitchen?" He scratched the back of his neck. She noticed he didn't ask why she was up in the middle of the night.

"I'm sorry. Did you need to keep the takeout containers?" She joked. "Or were you trying to attract your own ant colony with those dishes?"

"Uhh…" He shrugged sheepishly. "I know. I'm a mess. But I've been busy."

"Yes, I know." She edged forward across the tiled floor to him. "Finishing touches on the brewery." She nodded her head encouragingly, fingers twisting in the hem of her t-shirt.

"Yes." He slipped to the side and grabbed a clean glass from one of his cabinets, filling it with water from the tap and then taking a long pull from it. "Lots o' paper work. 'lectrical issues. Lorraine showed up while I was closin' down with some questions too."

"Oh?"

"Mmmm."

"That's very late for questions."

"She was wearin' a dress."

Jemma smiled as she teased, "Maybe she had a date… with Nick."

Fitz coughed and tried not to choke on the sip of water he'd been taking. Jemma took another step closer to him and waited while he tried again. When he swallowed and set the glass down on the counter next to the sink, she reached out with one of her hands, letting her fingertips graze the edge of his shirtsleeve.

"So… how's Lorraine then?"

"She's good."

When Jemma looked at his face for a sign, there was a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, but he was staring determinedly at the ceiling.

"Fitz," Jemma whispered, snaking her hand around his waist. "Tell me."

"I thought ye were a patien' person."

"I am!" Jemma protested, fingers pulling at the back of his shirt now, the fabric bunching in her hand. "I waited a month just to be able to have dinner with you," she reminded him as she pressed closer. "But it's been four days since she said she wanted to look at all the menus. I thought she would have told you something by now." She scraped her fingernails along his shirt, feeling his back tense underneath as she smiled.

"She - ah - said she had a couple more questions."

"She did?"

Fitz leaned back, placing more pressure against her hand, and Jemma propped her chin on his shoulder.

"Yeah… she said she's goin' ta be callin' a couple o' the people tomorrow." He paused when her hand stopped moving. "Or, today, I guess."

"Oh. All right."

He wrapped his arms around her waist.

"Jemma?"

"Hmm?"

Fitz twisted slightly, causing her to shift, her forehead pressing into the side of his neck.

"I' doesn't matter if she picks someone else," he whispered against the top of her head. "You still-"

"Yes, it does, Fitz!" Jemma leaned back to look him in the eye. "I only want the job if I'm the best. No special treatment."

"I know," he responded with a smile.

"Good."

"Are ye tired?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Why?" Jemma's hands moved underneath the hem at his back, her fingernails lightly running over his skin instead of fabric as she smirked. "Did you have something in mind?"

-o-

"Jemma?" Fitz whispered later when the room was starting to brighten from the slowly rising sun.

"Hmm?" She forced herself to focus and not drift to sleep before he spoke. But the bed was very warm and pleasantly full of him, and she shifted closer with her eyes still shut. She just wanted to hold on to this feeling forever and not worry about whether or not she had a new job later in the day.

"Ye sleep here a lot…" He trailed off, and she popped her eyes open to look at him in the grey glow of the room.

"Yes?" she prompted, her mind slowly whirring back to life.

"I jus' thought tha' maybe…" He hesitated again, moving to lay flat on his back while his fingers toyed with the edge of the sheet.

"Fitz." Jemma's heartbeat picked up and she was certainly more awake than she had been just moments ago. "Did you want me to stay at my flat more? I just-"

"No!" He reached out and grabbed her hand before saying more quietly, "No, I thought, maybe -" He broke off to clear his throat before he screwed his eyes shut and gave a sigh. Once he took another breath, he turned his head toward her, opening his eyes and finished, "would ye want ta stay permanently?"

"Permanently?" Jemma echoed. Trying her best to keep her face straight by ducking further into the blankets, she wound up tugging the edge of the sheet up to cover her smile as she asked, her voice muffled, "Fitz, do you want me to move in with you?"

"Only if ye want to," he rushed to explain. "If it's too soon, jus' forget I said anythin'."

His eyes were wide and bright and earnest, so she pushed herself out from under the sheet to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

"I want to."

"Yeah?"

"Yes." She bit down on her lip when he smiled in relief, but then cleared her throat and said, "I have a condition."

"Ye always have a condition," he countered, but he raised his eyebrows expectantly.

"Never," Jemma told him very seriously, "under any circumstances…" She smiled at the look of fear that had taken over his face. "... are we going to have a pet monkey. Understand?"

"Jemma…" Fitz whined before laughing as she cut him off with another kiss.

-o-

Pulling open the door to the brewery, Jemma was met with a loud grinding sound and Mack's voice shouting over it for Mike to "stop, stop, you're going to strip it!" She had no idea where they were or what they were doing, and she had a feeling she didn't want to know what piece of equipment was malfunctioning now. Instead, she ignored the noises coming from somewhere off to her left and made her way to the pub, one hand nervously pulling on her necklace.

"Ah, hello, dear," Lorraine called to her from her seat at one of the newly installed bar stools.

"Hello." Jemma tried to keep the slight tremor she was feeling run through her out of her voice. It was just Lorraine. No one else in sight. She cleared her throat as the older woman patted the stool next to her.

"I just had a few questions about your plan. Thought it was better if we talk in person."

"Yes. Of course."

Jemma slid onto the stool and folded her hands primly in front of her, back ramrod straight as she looked down at the menu laid out in front of her. It was hers. But it was a real menu. On real paper, laminated and bound, not printed off her ancient printer. She glanced at Lorraine out of the corner of her eye, trying not to show too much surprise, but the other woman was already off and running, pointing at items and voicing her opinions about the selection. For more than 20 minutes, Jemma answered everything she could and negotiated points with the other woman. She was starting to suspect Lorraine didn't actually have concerns about the menu, but was just trying to get a read on her, when she asked Jemma which of Fitz's brews that were in development she thought they should sample at the grand opening event.

"Whichever is ready then, I suppose," Jemma responded carefully, meeting Lorraine's eyes. "I'm not sure how many he's working on, or how far along they are."

"Oh, really? You seemed so well informed during the application process. Even knew about the scotch tasting Fitz hadn't told Nick and I about yet." Lorraine's lips slowly curled into a smile. "And I remember where I know you from."

"You do?" Jemma swallowed cautiously. "And where is that?"

"Fitz painted you. You must have made quite an impression when he met you."

"Oh."

"About six months back." Her lips twitched. "And last time he met me for lunch he kept going on about this amazing Jemma, and how smart she was, how special, but it didn't occur to me that you were the same person."

Jemma fought the urge to sigh. She sincerely hoped she wasn't about to get a lecture concerning her relationship with Fitz, or just as bad, lose the opportunity to manage her own restaurant. "I didn't-" Jemma started to explain.

"I know you didn't tell him you were pitching a menu." Lorraine gave her a soft smile. "Don't worry, your menu is the best of the bunch. That's no question. Some of the others… I don't know what they were thinking. I just want to know… if it doesn't work out, will you still be able to work with him?"

Jemma felt an immense sense of relief followed by something that she was sure was like suffocation. It was like there was a weight on her chest, squeezing in against her ribs. The possibility had, of course, occurred to her, but she had been steadily ignoring it.

She sucked in a harsh breath after Lorraine's words, looking down at her hands, then said firmly, "it's going to work out." She cleared her throat. "I understand your concern. But Fitz is… he's Fitz. And I have no intention of stuffing things up." She hesitated for a moment, tracing the grains of the wood on the bar top. "If… if he decided to end things… in the future… yes, I would still be able to work with him. It would be difficult, obviously. But I could do it if necessary. But it won't be." She looked back up at Lorraine and found Fitz's aunt watching her thoughtfully.

Lorraine nodded her head and stood from her stool. "All right then. You'd better get to work on your final decorating decisions. You probably need some more copper for your Copper Monkey in here."

"I get the space? The pub's mine?" Jemma leapt from the stool, almost knocking her knees on the bottom of the bar she had jumped so high.

"Mmm. You'll probably want to find yourself a kitchen staff too. I think you've already got a waitress willing to jump ship from the bar," Lorraine joked. She picked up her purse and walked beyond Jemma, heading for the door, the meeting seemingly over. "Oh, and Jemma?" she called to her from the entrance where the hostess stand would be.

Jemma turned around, her mind already whirring with possibilities. "Yes?"

"I won't interfere with your business plans now, but if you hurt my nephew, I will not hesitate to find a loophole in revoking your contract." She tapped a finger on the door frame. "And if he hurts you, you come to me, understand? I'm nothing if not fair."

"Yes. Thank you." Jemma was ready to add that it wouldn't be necessary all over again, but Lorraine was already walking away. Instead, she breathed a sigh of relief and gave a little hop before laughing. She had to make a few phone calls.

-o-

Jemma decided that there were pros and cons to being the person in charge. On the one hand, she was able to quickly eliminate anything that she didn't like. On the other, she was exhausted and couldn't remember the last time she'd been to bed before 2 AM.

Tonight was one of those nights.

She'd shaken hands with more people than she could count. She'd averted three near disasters for customers with food allergies. And she'd threatened to fire Callie for her repeated (and unnecessary) trips to the storehouse at the back of the brewery to "retrieve product" from Donnie. Jemma rolled her eyes just thinking about it. Fitz had put Donnie on the brewery staff thinking that would make him less nervous - he was much more comfortable with the machines than with the people. But Callie clearly was not letting him off the hook that easily. She was a master at finding any and every reason to head to the other side of the building to visit him.

Jemma locked the door to the pub behind her, her heels clicking on the floor of the main lobby as she walked through, shutting lights off and setting the security system. With one last glance around, she left the building and locked it up for the night before walking across the street and through the door to The Monkey's Uncle.

Having easy access to her favorite bar, she decided, was definitely a large mark on the plus side.

With summer in full swing, the regular college crowd was home for the break, so the bar was much quieter than during the time she'd been working there the year before. She rubbed her left temple in relief. No screaming sports fans. No loud breakups from the sorority set. Just quiet couples having drinks and people unwinding from a long day at work.

Jemma slid onto a barstool next to Nick with a sigh.

"Long day?"

"You could say that," she agreed.

Fitz was across from them in an instant, leaning across the bar to place a kiss on her forehead. "Drink?" He asked as he pulled back.

"Maybe just water." Jemma propped her chin up on one hand while Fitz retrieved a bottle from the fridge for her, twisting off the cap before he set it down. She raised an eyebrow at him as she took a sip.

"I've got a couple o' things ta take care of, an' then I'll be ready ta go, yeah?" Fitz grabbed a pile of paperwork from behind the counter that he must have been working on before she came in. "Lance'll close up later."

"Fitz!" Bobbi's voice bounced off the bar as she took the seat next to Jemma. "I'm glad you're still here. So, for my next speed dating event, I was thinking, the pub?" She glanced back and forth between Jemma and Fitz, nodding her head while they both shook their heads no. "What? Come on, why not? You've got appetizers, Fitz doesn't. And it's a change of venue for some of them. This group is half serial speed daters. I don't think they're actually looking for a date. Come on!"

"The pub is much smaller," Jemma offered, "and it would take away from the regular business."

'But this is a small group," Bobbi protested. "In fact, I might need a couple of fill-ins to fluff it up a little bit. We have more men than women again."

"No," Fitz and Jemma both burst out at the same time.

Bobbi laughed. "Afraid you'll meet someone new," she teased Jemma.

"Definitely not." Jemma smiled at Fitz in the way that usually got her teased by Bobbi. "More like, afraid I'll be distracted from  _work_."

"But-"

Jemma didn't take her eyes away from Fitz while he scoffed. "What if," she interrupted what was sure to turn into an argument, "I set you up with a selection of appetizers for the speed daters for a small fee, and you tell them all they were courtesy of The Copper Monkey, the pub across the street. Be sure to mention that tours of the brewery run from 11 to 4 if anyone wants a fun date activity as well, and that The Monkey's Uncle has plans to add a few of our more popular appetizers to their own menu."

"You're going to use my speed daters to advertise?"

"Yes," Fitz agreed. "Yes, she is." He nodded. "The bar's slower right now. There's more room for your speed daters here, and it's basically free advertising for the brewery."

"Fine. Fine." Bobbi waved a hand at the two of them, her eyes focusing across the room. "I'll email you the details. I've got to talk to Lance about something too."

"They're goin' to have sex in my bar once I leave, aren't they?" Fitz shuddered.

Jemma nodded and took another sip of her water as he started to turn away. Next to her, Nick cleared his throat.

"So," he said loudly, "Since you're talkin' business, I've got a proposal too."

Fitz stopped in his paper shuffling and half turned around. "Fer the las' time Nick, I'm not buyin' out yer share."

"This proposal isn't for you."

Jemma froze with the bottle half way back to the bar top while Nick reached into the pocket of the leather jacket he always seemed to wear, even in the stifling heat of the summer, and pulled out a stack of folded paper.

"Wha'? Were you jus' hopin' she'd come by tonight?"

"She always comes by after closing up if you're here," Nick countered, smoothing out the pages and placing them on the bar in front of Jemma.

Fitz set his own stack of papers down and gripped the other side of the bar tightly as he looked at them. Jemma glanced back and forth between the two men curiously.

"Jemma," Nick started, completely ignoring Fitz, whose mouth was opening and closing like a fish in front of them, "I've wanted to officially retire for a long time. Fitz won't let me. He's sentimental that way."

"That's not-"

"I've been thinkin' about doing some travelin' and it would be easier if I had one less business to worry about. May's bought me out of her bakery. Just last month." He pushed the papers more firmly in front of her.

"I don't know if I can afford to buy you out, Nick," Jemma said slowly, her eyes skimming the pages.

"Page three," Nick responded. "I got you a payment plan worked out."

"Really?" Jemma grinned at that and flipped to the page as Fitz shifted his weight back and forth. She glanced at him to see if he still looked upset, but he was reading the page in front of him and nodding his head, his face blank. She went back to reading "Hmm. Monthly payments over the course of five years to meet your asking price. If I miss more than two consecutive payments, ownership defaults to the Fitz family." She paused, trying not to laugh at that. "The Fitz family? That's rather vague, isn't it, Nick?" She shot her gaze back up to Fitz who was turning a light shade of pink.

"I thought that would cover all manner of eventualities," Nick remarked smugly before he sipped from his drink. "I bought into the Fitz family development back in the day, but Lorraine's thinkin' about selling her share too, and say you default on a payment four years from now? Maybe there's a new member of the Fitz family by then." He let his statement hang in the air.

"I see." Jemma straightened her back and didn't look at Fitz as she flipped to another page and skimmed the stipulations outlined in the contract. "And you're sure you'd like to sell it to me?"

"I'm sure." He set his empty glass down on the bar. "You can take a couple of days to think it over." He climbed to his feet, then tapped a finger on the paper. "Just don't take too long."

Fitz and Jemma both waited until he was out of the building before leaning forward across the bar.

"Did you tell him? No, I thought you did," they exclaimed simultaneously.

"Fitz," Jemma whispered, trying to calm him down, "I didn't tell him. I promise. I know how delicate your ego is. I would never tell him I proposed before you."

"Only cause I was waitin' for the ring to be sized." He scoffed. "'M not delicate."

"No, of course not."

Jemma smiled while he glowered at her. The glowering only lasted a few seconds before he grinned sheepishly.

"That man knows everythin'. I'd like to know how he does it."

Jemma went back to flicking through the contract, chewing on the inside of her cheek as she did.

"What do you think, Fitz?"

"About you becoming part owner?" There was a long pause and Fitz tapped his chin as though thinking, leaning his elbows on the bar as she glanced between him and the contract. "I think… well, I have a few conditions." His eyes were dark as held her gaze.

"Do you, now?" Jemma grinned. "I think we should discuss them... at length… when we get home."

Fitz stared her down for a full minute before saying, "This paperwork can wait 'til the mornin'."

-o-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all she wrote. I hope you all had fun reading! Thanks again to notapepper and StarryDreamer01 for sharing beta duties on this one.


End file.
